prentiss!
by mastersquirrel
Summary: Prentiss is abducted by a serial rapist responsible for the murders of brunettes in Texas, both the abducted agent and the team must fight to save the remaining victims.
1. Chapter 1

"We have another one."

It was not a sentence FBI Agent Derek Morgan wanted to hear first thing on Monday morning after having arrived at work with a hangover persisting since Sunday.

"Matching the body that was found last Friday?" Emily Prentiss asked from the desk beside him, fresh faced and enviably sober. JJ nodded, motioning with a thumb, signaling that they were to assemble in the main office. Morgan felt her blue eyes glance in his direction suspiciously before she headed off before them.

Derek sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his forehead, letting them rest as he reached the back of his scalp. He mentally prepared himself for the effect standing on his feet would have on his head.

"Morgan?"

It was Prentiss, already up from her chair and staring him down.

"Yeah."

"You look like crap."

Derek frowned, a cheeky grin on his lips as he faced his female companion.

"Alright, tell me what you see lil' miss."

Her eyes did not stray far from his as she briefly looked him up and down,

'Five o clock shadow, shirt that has not been ironed, your voice is only ever that croaky after a hard night of partying. Fess up Agent Morgan."

Derek laughed, then cringed as his head gave another throb. Ugh, not a good idea. He managed a grin as Emily continued to look down at him with her left eyebrow raised in question, "A friend of mine had their 25th on the Sunday. He had with him some good booze, and a few pretty party players." His eye winked instinctively as he finished his sentence.

Emily looked away rolling her eyes, miming a disgusted expression, "get up Agent flirtatious, it's time for work."

A dark haired woman lay sprawled between black garbage bags, a scene somehow ironically fitting for the limp corpse that once had life in its dark eyes. Cheap clothes gave her the appearance of a prostitute; a murder scene no different from the works of other killers who had targeted hookers upon first sight.

'Texas, Kelly Barnett, 33 years old, she was reported missing a week before her body was found yesterday in an alleyway behind a roadside restaurant by one of their workers. There was evidence of repeated sexual assault, with various stab wounds around her body. Death caused by blood loss,' JJ's soft sigh was unheard as she finished the brief and retreated to her seat.

Another death, another victim they were too late for.

'The unsub seems to be targeting Caucasian brunettes, specifically those with dark brown eyes,' Reid mentioned, looking through the photos of the past victims.

'They were assaulted away from the dump site, and the large amounts of blood found at the scene suggest that the victims were left to bleed to death, possibly alive at the time they were left there by the killer,' Emily concluded, setting the papers in her hands down on the table.

'Did Garcia check up on the backgrounds of the victims?' Aaron inquired from the corner of the room.

JJ nodded, 'they weren't prostitutes.' She received a couple of raised eyebrows from around the room.

'Even this one?' Derek asked, pointing to the screen where the woman's photo still remained. He received another nod from JJ, 'Jenny was the principal of the local school in her town, Barlow Primary school.'

'Not someone you'd expect to walk around in six inch platform heels and a tube top,' Emily commented, shaking her head slightly as she jotted down a note.

'Well, we don't know that for sure,' Spencer contradicted her, 'sometimes the individuals who have the most conservative jobs and personalities may lead a double life.'

The other four victims were also all of highly regarded professions,' JJ continued, 'Bethany, a CEO of a company's design department, who had returned to Barlow to visit her parents, Joanie who was a lawyer – '

'Looks as if he's targeting professional career women,' Derek commented, 'perhaps he sees them as untouchable, a challenge.'

'Were there any other connections between the victims?'

'So far females aged between 30-40 have been targeted, three of the women found so far were originally from or lived in Barlow at the time of the abduction - the other two women were targeted when they had been passing through the town,' JJ replied to Aaron's question.

'Alright, JJ I want you to try to narrow down the possible abduction sites of the unsub to see which areas he frequents. We're going to need to interview both the family and the residents in the victim's town,' Aaron concluded, looking at each of his team mates in the eye to signal it was time to leave, 'we need to find out why he's killing these women.'

Emily joined the seat across to Derek as he was just about to fill his ears with music.

'How's the hangover doing?'

Derek gave her a small nod and a grin, 'better. How am I looking?'

Emily leaned back in an exaggerated manner, resting her chin on her hand and frowning to fake a contemplative expression, 'did you manage to get hold of a razor or something?'

Aaron Hotchner watched the two agents from his seat nearby. As Spencer joined them, only to receive a rough ruffling of his hair from Derek, he wondered whether the jokes and laughter that adorned their area would still remain by the time this case was finished. Happiness was only a momentary privilege in their line of profession. He wasn't quite sure of what to expect. The victimology of this case was erratic, with no apparent signature evident in his kills asides from the repeated assaults, one of the primary reasons as to why it had become a federal case. With the number of victims he had targeted, there had to be a lead, somewhere.

There must be.

'Worried?'

Aaron raised his head to meet David Rossi's eyes.

'Don't be,' came the comment before Aaron could respond, 'not until we get there anyway.' A soft chuckle followed. Aaron could comprehend where it had come from. The plane trips were often the equivalent to the dramatic irony characteristic to Shakespeare's classics.

That brown hair. Those deep dark eyes.

The features he coveted the most and always managed to obtain.

He wondered where it came from, that delicious confidence that radiated from her body, her stance, her expression.

Every single delicious detail.

And he knew soon, she would also be his.

A blond attractive lean man lingered at the counter as he waited for his drink. Tapping his fingers in a set rhythm, his head was kept still as he ran his pupils freely around the room. A strange grin twisted the corner of his lip as his eyes settled on a group of teenage girls . Amongst them sat a pretty petite brunette. Oh how she stood out so brightly among the rest. A blossoming flower in a garden of couch grass. One that would look beautiful for his garden.

'Your order's up sir.'

He hardly felt the cool glass as he carried the cup to an empty booth, making sure she was still in his sight. It was as if someone had blurred the rest of the world. As soon as he had laid his eyes on her, the world had somehow slowed down for his pleasure. The way she flung her hair over her shoulder. The way her hand caressed the table top. He wondered what those hands would feel like on skin.

His skin.

'FBI. We'd just like to ask a few questions to Mr. Mason Gennings regarding his discovery from last week.'

Don't flinch. He cautioned himself. They are not here for you. Just get up slowly and walk towards the door.

He gave a loud cough, took out his wallet, and threw one last gaze at the pretty brunette sitting just a few meters away from him. Tough luck, darlings. Might be back for you. His previous smirk evolved into a full grin. If you're lucky.

He leaned over the counter to place the cash on its polished surface. He nodded at the waitress in return for her smile. Pretty one. Unfortunately for her, just not his type. He decided to bless her with one of his smiles instead. A reward for her good service. Even if she had turned around just as he had spread his lips to bare his teeth.

Well, it was her loss. He had just turned around to leave when an unexpected sight met his eyes.

Long dark eyelashes framed her eyes. Dark brown hair was parted slightly to the side, length reaching a few inches below the shoulders. A white blouse lay under her black suit as she stood at a height that almost matched his. Lips were coated in light red rouge, perfect for her skin. Flawless. She did not meet his eyes as he passed her. A few seconds and she had him hooked.

An FBI Agent.

Perfection.

She was next. And like each and every other girl before, she was going to be his.

The brunette FBI Agent.

From head to toe, she was everything he had coveted from the day the bitch had left him. The way she walked, her stance as she had stood at the counter, no less powerful than the large dark man who had stood by her side. He did not know what it was about women like her; the danger their posed was an allure he could never resist from as long as he could remember. Her height, he had always loved tall girls. She promised both a great chase and a thrill, and he'd make sure she would be looking UP at his face the whole time.

The two hands on his watch pointed to 11.

It was time to feed them lunch.

'Is this the crime scene?' Emily asked as they stepped into the alleyway behind the restaurant where Mason had lead them. She mentally cringed at the putrid scent. Overfilled garbage bags toppled over the edges of the large metal bins – 'we keep forgetting to put it out for collection' came Mason sheepish reply to her suspicious glance – while various bits of rubbish and cigarette butts littered the ground profusely. Derek found himself running his gaze over them as they followed their escort to the place where the Jenny's body had been discovered; a place as messy as this meant crucial evidence could so easily be missed.

'Here it tis.'

Derek estimated Mason to be in his late teens. He spoke with a slow, lazy drawl, with a chubby appearance that reminded Derek of the stereotypical game-obsessed teenage nerds often depicted in films. He had only exchanged a few words since their arrival, but they were mostly mono-syllabic, as if speaking was a chore. He doubted the guy's manner changed during his shifts when dealing with customers.

A large patch of rusty brown painted the grimy surface between several black bags of garbage. Having been half a week since the discovery of the body, the flies had already moved on to the food spilling from the black bags.

'The place should be just as we left it'

Emily gingerly kneeled beside the dry puddle, eyes searching for clues, fibers, a strand of hair, anything.

'Can you describe how and when you found her?' Derek asked, aiming to ask a question that would force elaboration.

Mason gave a shrug, then replied, 'well I had the early shif' that morn'in, so we're meant ta arrive at work by at leas' five. Y'know, to clean up the place and set it up fuh early customers…anyway I think I came out here to take the garbage out at around half pass six, noticed a crow peckin' at a few bags...' he quickly rubbed the underside of his nose on the back of his hand before continuing, 'our boss don't like having animals goin' through the garbage – '

'Found something.' Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a small white fluffy object. 'It looks like a feather. Blue with black edges; I doubt it's from the crows.'

'Bag it, we'll take it back to the station and see what Garcia can come up with,' Derek responded.

'- anyway, that thas how I found tha body.'

Emily rose from her place, removing the blue latex gloves from her hands. She turned to face Mason, 'did you notice anything particularly suspicious or different about this area at the time?'

'Uh…I dunno, it all seemed pretty normal to me, apart from that body, sure.'

Derek would have stayed and listened to the remainder of the conversation had it not for the vibrations of his cell phone.

'A visit from my favorite goddess, talk to me.'

'Ooh you know I love it when you do that – the genius strikes again, know what I have for you?'

He chuckled, 'you gonna tell me or keep me guessing?'

'Ohhh I don't know… since mercy is a virtue I'll be nice - this time. Anyway, you know how you mentioned that all the victims were clothed in garments that mismatched their professions? Well guess what I found out – while the victims bodies were covered in stab wounds, there were no cuts or damage present on the clothes.'

The grin disappeared from his lips, 'so the clothes were put on the victims post mortem?'

'I've taught you well.'

'Alright, you rock my world baby girl.'

'You know it.'

Derek headed back to where Emily and Mason were standing, where she was staring at the teen with an eyebrow raised as he gestured with his hands to aid him in his recount. It was evident that the teen's speech had gotten the better of her. She looked almost relieved upon his approach, 'what did Garcia say?'

'Looks as if the victims had been dressed in the clothing they were found in after their death. The clothes were intact meaning they weren't wearing it prior to the stabbings.'

'Uh…'

A familiar drawl caused both agents to avert their attention to Mason.

He scratched his head awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

'Are you done with me? My shif' finished a few minutes ago and I'd kind of like to go home.'

The team's return to the station was met with the introduction of the officer in charge of the case.

'Detective Johnson, meet SS Agent Jearu, Morgan, Prentiss and Dr. Reid.' David introduced the team to a tall, well-built blond. High cheekbones adorned his cheeks, his face chiseled to assume a sharp, attentive mask. Piercing blue eyes met those of each agent in quiet acknowledgement. He stood as at a height that rivaled that of Hotch, with broad shoulders and a firm but graceful neck.

'It's a pleasure to meet you all, your help is very much appreciated.' Each of their hands was met with a firm grip that promised a sturdy ally. Timothy Johnson then stood back politely, eyes jumping between each of the newly introduced members with fascination. Derek noted the way the man's gaze lingered for a second longer when he reached JJ and Emily, an action that seemingly contradicted the maturity that had been conveyed by his initial greeting.

'Shall we?' David spoke, motioning to an empty room.

'All right team, JJ will brief us on the updates of the current case,' Aaron announced.

Several miles away, a woman's screams faded away in a soft echo to the evening breeze, unheard


	2. Chapter 2

He hummed contentedly as he filled the bucket with the remainder of his dinner. The week's worth of leftovers clattered and sloshed around in the bucket as he lifted it using the handle, grinning widely as his nose greeted its unpleasant smell. Them girls were going to enjoy this fine meal. He placed a lid over the mouth of the metal bucket, and hoisted it over his left shoulder. Grabbing the keys from the kitchen bench, he tapped the radio to life before leaving the house through the backdoor.

He whistled to the melody that gradually diminished in volume with each step he took from the house, bobbing his head along to the rhythm. A frown disfigured his face as several shouts and high pitched screams began to interrupt the almost inaudible music.

They just did not know how to shut up.

He opened the mesh gate and locked it behind him, taking no notice of the two whimpering figures who shied away from him upon his entry. Crouching down, he removed the lid from the bucket and chuckled as he heard the thick squelching of the slop as it dropped down in coagulated clumps into the trough.

He roughly pushed away at a hand that grabbed at his wrist, whistling harder to emphasize how their pitiful calls were unheard. He brought his hand up to swat at what sounded like a mosquito, only realizing he had slapped one of the bitches in the face when their screams suddenly amplified.

Why did they feel the need to whine so much? The lack of assistance or reward recieved despite their screams should have reinforced the futility of the action a long time ago. Whine. Scream. Whine. Scream. He provided them food, shelter and pleasure and yet they knew no gratitude. Shame. What despicable creatures humans were.

Boring. That's what they were.

The screams that had once placed excitement into his life now lacked their initial stimulation. A smile suddenly lit his face as he remembered the day's events.

He wouldn't need to hear these whores anymore.

The usual rush adrenaline that always arrived when confronted with the task of briefing a large group returned. A sea of faces surrounded her. Faces belonging to individuals who were willing to listen, help, and hopefully put another bastard in his place. It was her job to make sure they had everything they needed. Every single detail that had been uncovered so far. Anything, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, could be the key to unlocking the whereabouts and identity of the killer.

She took a final glance at Spencer, who looked at her expectantly, and began.

'We believe the unsub we are looking for is a white male in his mid 40's to 50's'. He targets Caucasian brunettes so far between the ages of 30 to 40, career women who are in socially significant or powerful positions.'

As soon as a hand immediately shot up, JJ was already ready with her answer, 'unknown subject.' A relieved smile confirmed her assumption.

'The unsub seems to pick his victims at random, afterwards following them closely for days and abducts them when they are alone. All of the victims were clothed in suggestive garments at the time of their discovery.'

Derek stood from his place and spoke, 'the lack of incisions on the clothes compared to the slash wounds on the body indicate that the victims were clothed in the garments, most possibly by the unsub, after their death.'

'It should also be noted that the depths of the cuts were varied, with wounds becoming less superficial as they moved away from the peripherals of the body and near the torso. Here the lacerations were much deeper and severe enough to eventually cause the death of the victim by hypervolemia, or excessive blood loss. The nature of the cuts suggests that they were not intended to cause immediate death but pain, from which the unsub could gain pleasure,' Emily said.

'The evidence of repeated rape and several wounds that had partially healed at the time the bodies were discovered indicate that the unsub combines both sexual and physical assault, exhibiting what is also known as Anger Excitation Behavior and keeps them for a desired amount of time. The inconsistency of the dump site locations and the fact that he frequents highly populated areas also suggests that he either wants us to find the bodies or does not care.'

The room's attention averted to the soft yet eager tone characteristic to Spencer's speech as he contributed to the evaluation.

'The fact that he dresses his targets in risqué outfits indicates that he sees these women as powerful individuals, to him, they'll seem untouchable, a challenge - so by forcing them to endure his treatments and dressing them up in this manner he's degrading them to appearances that are almost polar opposites to their original professions – almost as if he's lowering them to a level he will feel comfortable approaching.'

Spencer paused as he was met with quick glances from a few officers, and noticed the entire room had fallen into silence asides from the rapid scratching of pens against pads of paper. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed and mentally reminded himself to slow down, '…this also means that he may have or have had powerful female figures during his life, and he is challenging that perception through his actions.'

'Throughout his life he may have felt weak, inferior, and as if he was never good enough. Rejection may have also been a crucial factor that contributed to the motive for his current crimes,' Aaron continued, his strong presence and deep, rational voice governing the attentions of the audience to his words, 'this might have fueled his desire to target and dominate women that appear to be identical to those who he's perceived as powerful throughout his life. Chances are he has harbored these desires for a long time.'

'So how would he act in real life? Like, how are we meant to know what kind of a person we should be watching out for?'

Derek took over to answer the man's question. 'The unsub is most likely to be shy and withdrawn as a person, someone who would fade into the background, particularly in the presence of female subjects. Remember, before subjecting them to his treatments, he views them as untouchable, perhaps people who are too good for him.'

'I have a question.'

A deep, confident voice rang through the room, reverberating from the walls. The faces in the room turned to watch Detective Johnson as he peeled himself from the window he had been standing in front of to stand at his full height. His icy pupils were fixed on Agent Prentiss expectantly.

Her brow slightly creased into a frown at his sharp gaze but did not break the contact.

'Yes, Detective Johnson?'

She watched as the corner of the blonde's lip curved up like a tiny tick to form the hint of a smirk. She was going to kill Hotch later for answering in her place.

Detective Johnson averted his eyes to meet Agent Hotchner's. The short period of silence ensued, emphasizing the tension between the two men.

'How accurate is this…profiling, you call it? Can you guarantee that from what you've told us, we'll be able to get the right guy?' he gave another smirk, 'presuming of course; that is it a guy.'

The detective's tone failed to convey curiosity. A deliberate challenge.

'Now you just –'

'Morgan.'

Their supervisor's voice stopped the dark man in his tracks.

Aaron narrowed his eyes at the blond detective. The ice blue eyes revealed nothing regarding his motives. Only arrogance. Pride. Conceit. Amusement.

The knock that sounded at the door unfazed the two males.

'Sorry to disturb you, but the Sheriff just called. Two new bodies have been found.'

There she was. Brushing her hair. Retouching her make up. Her smile revealed the successful outcome of the day's case. He knew the day would only get better for her.

Jessica once again looked into her hand mirror, humming along to the music from the car speakers.

'Now that was the new hit single Don't Stop by Reveal to me. This is Kevin Winters bringing you home from work.'

Another case won, more to splurge. It was time to call her girls for a night of hard shopping. A dress was needed for the cocktail party her client had decided to organize in celebration of their victory. She pouted her lips in her mirror once more, smiled, then dropped her lipstick and eye shadow into her bag. She raised her eyebrow slightly as she heard a tiny crack from within, then shrugged it off. Hm. She had wanted new ones anyway.

Lifting her hand up, she adjusted the rear view mirror to find a pair of dark eyes staring into hers. She opened her mouth to scream, only managing a whimper when she noticed a threatening glint from an object held in front of her throat.

'Drive, trallop.'

'You've gotta be kidding me right? Is Hotch just gonna let that guy off?'

'Morgan – '

'No, don't Morgan me. He was deliberately challenging us – you saw how he looked at Prentiss. The guy's got it in for us.'

'But that's all it is in the end, Morgan. Profiling is really just an educated guess, each and every one of us has questioned its success some time during our line of duty,' Rossi answered from backseat next to Emily, where he was examining a file with his chin propped up against his fist.

'That ain't what I'm mad about Rossi – the guy was deliberately challenging us.'

'Well, an easy problem to fix if you don't let it get to you,' Rossi replied light-heartedly, casually flipping another page over after he had finished.

'Morgan, just drive.' Emily turned her gaze out the window; she did not want to hear more about the conceited bastard from ten minutes ago and be reminded of how being beaten to her answer by her male supervisor had given the guy a substantial amount of satisfaction. It wasn't that she was unaware of why Hotch had done that. She just thought that by now he would have trusted her to handle the situation just as well.

'Don't think too hard on it, Prentiss.' The sound of another page being flipped over. 'You know better than anyone else what he's like since your first day on the job.'

She sighed and gave a single nod, 'I know.' She shrugged, 'either way, two alpha males going at each other in one room is a scene I'm not thrilled about seeing any time soon.'

'Either way I hope we get the chance to put the damn bastard back in line,' Derek snapped, sharply turning at a corner as if to emphasize his annoyance. 'Hold on.'

'Oh god not again.'

Rossi grabbed his file just in time as it began slipped off his knees, only just managing to avoid smashing his head against the window as Derek maneuvered their vehicle around the next corner with a force like a charging rhinoceros.

There wouldn't be anything left to deal with Detective Johnson if the ride continued like this.

Spencer's eager grin was there to greet them as Emily emerged from the vehicle. 'So, uh…how was the ride?'

She rolled her eyes and gave him a soft jab on his side, causing him to flinch, 'we've all managed to arrive in one piece if that's what you mean.'

Before Spencer could answer with another one of his innocently smart comments, he was pushed roughly out of the way by a large police officer, who stopped in his tracks only a few feet away from them and violently emptied the contents of his stomach. His back shuddered brutally as his retching continued, his physical bulk and every training program he had taken in preparation for the real deal his profession would require gone with the moment he laid his eyes on the scene. Spencer found himself swallowing a large lump in his throat as the nerves kicked in with the anticipation of what lay ahead of them.

David Rossi signaled a hand in their direction, prompting them to proceed forward. However they were forced to halt in their steps as their supervisor walked up to them in brisk steps. His furrowed brow cast a shadow over his eyes, accentuating the creases of age at its corners.

'You two go ahead. It'd be best not to let Agent Jareau see this.'

'Uh, Hotch? What's – '

A touch on Reid's shoulder turned him around. He had always thought he would have something to say, something to think about every single thing he saw, found out and knew. And yet the recognition of what lay before him rendered him completely speechless.

'Holy…'

Rossi nodded at them, confirming their first guesses as correct.

The distinguishing curled figure of a developing fetus lay sprawled from the open gash that revealed the contents of the woman's lower stomach, the umbilical cord wrapped around it in a loose halo. Her arms boxed the tiny corpse, a mother's instinctive last attempts to protect the very last thing she may have ever wanted to protect even before its arrival. Only a few feet away lay the stiffened corpse of the second body, the cause of death evident from the single gaping wound on her neck. Her face and eyes were staring blankly in the direction where the first victim lay, arms reaching towards her. Her ring finger lay snagged on the edge of the tube shirt that clothed the first woman's torso, simulating the actions a child would do when desperately reaching for their parent.

The two corpses lay, joined together even in death after having endured every experience they had gone through until this moment. Their blood, that had once been a rich crimson, had clotted to a grimy brown, blending into a dark patch no different to the other spots that lay congealed on the grey asphalt, aside from its large size.

The key turned, firing the large pick up truck to life. A strong foot slammed on the accelerator, causing it to give a sudden jerk and then charge forward, spurting a cloud of dust on the yellow car that trailed behind it on a short chain. She watched in horror as the dust began to coat the shiny yellow of her Porsche into a grimy brown. Her car gone meant there was no trail to follow.

She didn't want to die.

She stared out of the cage that surrounded the trailer of the truck, watching a telephone pole slowly diminish in size as they moved further away from the direction they had travelled from. Panic latched onto her windpipe as the events of the past few minutes caught up with her.

She had to scream.

'LET ME OUT YOU FREAK! LET-ME-GO!'

Oh ho, keep screaming. I'm sure you know how I like it.

'HELP!'

Makes me laugh how every single one tries the same thing that and yet they never learn. None of them do.

'IS ANYBODY OUT THERE!'

She was getting noisy. He turned the dial for his radio up to the maximum. He laughed loudly as he heard the music drown out her screams into a whine, then to complete silence.

'And that was Jars of Clay, the final track for the day. We'll be finishing off with tomorrow's weather forecast. This is Kevin Winters, bringing you home. Dave, how's the weather looking for tomorrow?'

Jessica felt her panic increase from the pits of her stomach as she realized she could no longer hear her voice, alerting her to the futility of her struggles and screams. The radio felt ironically familiar, reminding her that any other day, it would be the very sounds that would have signaled the end of the day.

Her eyes fluttered to a close. She could see the white stone pathway that lead to the front door of her house – oh god those violets, she forgot to water them yesterday – she hoped the cleaner would manage them – the key slipping into the lock of the knob, turning to allow her in – the way the stained glass windows just across the doorway in the kitchen would cast colored ripples dancing across its marble floor - she would have skipped the usual snack today, to get ready for the night out with friends at the department store where she would have bought the perfect outfit for tomorrow's celebration.

Something she would have attended if the day had proceeded as normal. Not anymore. What lay ahead for her parallel to the time of the celebration tomorrow was something she was afraid to think about.

Her eyes shot open. The scene of the sunset dying the Texan sky red churned into a blur as tears flooded her eyes.

She grabbed the wire mesh cage with her fingers, pressing her face against it. Just beyond this thin wall was freedom stretching before her. So close yet absolutely unreachable. Teasing her.

Please. She wanted to live.

'These bodies lack the deliberate lacerations the other victims had,' David Rossi said as he stared down at the bodies, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. "No risqué items of clothing either.'

'Are you sure this is the same killer? The MO seems completely different,' Reid commented, 'the unsub took his time with the other victims, he enjoyed very minute of it, yet with these two bodies it seems like a quick job as if he was just doing it to get it over with…'

The senior agent's gaze encouraged Spencer to continue from where he had previously trailed off, his hands gesticulating fervently. 'Well, we know that the unsub keeps his victims for a certain period of time to take his time…doing everything he does with them, right? Compared to the first few victims, who possessed both fresh stab wounds and ones that were partially healed, the wounds on these two bodies show that he didn't take his time with them – just a single deep cut to the throat and stomach.'

'He's disposing those that have outlived their purpose.' A bitterness was present in David's voice. 'Probably means he's found new targets – he couldn't wait.'

'The MO might be different but it can't be a different unsub.'

The miniscule size of the object held in Emily's fingers prompted Spencer and David to crouch down in order to properly observe it.

'Morgan and I also found a feather like this at the site where Kelly's body was found. Garcia should be getting back to us with the results soon.'

Spencer straightened up, furrowing his brow as if searching for an explanation.

Emily narrowed her eyes slightly, 'do you think he's trying to leave us a message?'

Spencer shook his head, 'I don't think so; most messages left behind by serial killers are designed so that they are the first thing you notice once you walk in on a crime scene – these feathers, they could have just as easily have been missed. They haven't been arranged or positioned in any particular way that indicates symbolism either. If the police had even managed to find the feathers in the first crime scenes there's a chance they would have dismissed the possibility of it being related to the bodies.'

'Well we're gonna have to find out.' David turned away, pressing the cell phone to his ear. 'Garcia, have you got the results for the feather that was sent to you?'

Garcia jumped up from her slouched position on her chair as she was alerted to the senior agent's voice on the other end of the line. 'Y-yes sir.' She was true to her word after a few seconds of rapid typing. 'Okay…the feather is from the Blue Jay, more specifically speaking, the Jet Lined Blue Jay, which is the original variety of the breed – and before you inquire sir, I've already checked the recordings and sightings of this bird and it should be over to 'Y'all' shortly. Just to warn you though sir, it's a long list.'

'Thanks Garcia.'

'You are most welcome sir.' He could hear the smile in her voice.

Spencer and Emily met him with inquiring looks as he returned to where they were standing.

'The feather was from Blue jay found commonly in the area. The unsub might potentially be a Bird Watcher, or own a property that is next to or near a wooded area.' David began walking in brisk steps towards their vehicle once more, soon followed by the two agents who exchanged a perplexed glance. 'We'll go back to the station to check the list Garcia's provided for us.'

'Garcia was right to warn us,' was JJ's first comment as they arrived at the police station. Having been driven back by their supervisor against her wishes, she had been the first to receive the information back at the police station. Unfortunately she had no good news to provide them. 'I checked the list of areas Garcia sent us and it looks as if the blue jay is one of the most common birds in this area of Texas.'

'Great.' Morgan turned away, raising a hand to sweep his forehead in frustration.

'That means that it could be anyone local, doesn't do much of a job in narrowing down any potential suspects.' JJ gave a small nod, her concerned expression mirroring that of Emily's.

The team arrived at the room where they had held the original briefing. There waiting when they turned the large light on was Detective Johnson, sitting on one of the desks.

'How the hell did he get here before us?' Emily asked softly through clenched teeth.

'He came back with me and Hotch – guess he didn't trust us in the office alone.' JJ finished the sentence with a look and a shrug.

The BAU team each took their place on the seats provided around a large desk in silence, wary of the detective's extra presence. He fixed a glare on JJ as he threw a manilla folder onto the desk.

'What's this?' Aaron inquired, leaning forward to grab the folder and rifle through it.

'While you were out, we received two missing reports.'

Aaron Hotchner could feel the rest of the members tense at those words, which added an underlying hostility to the silence that had lingered within the room.

'Two women, brunettes, one a lawyer and the other a magazine editor on maternity leave.' His gaze remained cold as he locked eyes with JJ on the other end of the table. 'She was three months pregnant.'

'Is.' JJ snapped, not averting her gaze from Detective Johnson's face.

He smirked, folding his arms over his chest pointedly. 'She might already be dead.'

'Our profile says the unsub keeps his victims for at least a week.' Aaron spoke. 'The missing persons report only came in today, after he had murdered his previous abductees.' He stepped forward, the dark shadows cast by the sun filtering through the room's window accentuating his unwearied expression. 'She still has time.'

The smirk evolved into a sneer as the detective looked the supervisor up and down, head tilted to the side in a condescending manner. 'We don't know that now, do we.'

'Excuse me.'

A muffled voice called out. Aaron opened the door to admit a police officer who held a white envelope in his hand. 'I have a letter for Agent Emily Prentiss.'

She reached out to receive the envelope. It was blank. Something didn't seem right. 'Excuse me, did you see the person who delivered this?'

The officer nodded, reaching up to adjust his cap. 'Yeah, just then. A boy delivered it. Was carrying a scooter.'

That wasn't much of a help.

'Prentiss?' Morgan asked when he noticed the woman's frame visibly stiffen upon opening the envelope. He leaned over beside her to examine its contents, eyes widening when a closer inspection confirmed his initial assumptions.

There was no need to remove the photo completely from the envelope. It was as if she was looking through a window to the past, the side profile captured on the glossy page recording none other than her crouching beside David Rossi and Spencer at the crime scene only a few minutes ago.


	3. Chapter 3

Ya know after reading the first 2 reviews, it hurt. I didn't ever copy that person's story. I never, ever read "covet" or any other stories made by that person. I am sorry if my story has anything similar to it. I wrote that story when I was 13 in Britain. If you haven't already found out, I just founded out about FanFiction. And after those reviews I went and looked up "Covet" and yes it is similar, but not exactly the same. Do not even try to accuse me of stealing someone else's work. I would never, ever do that!


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing that Alice Timmons was confronted with when she awoke was the reek of animal dung.

A scent that was strangely familiar, one that dug deep into the depths of her mind to bring back memories of the pig farm her parents used to own when she was a child. It was the reason as to why she had been so determined to leave the place behind. To pursue something that would ensure her money, security, cleanliness and sophistication.

The good all that did for this moment.

'Hello?' Her voice sounded tentative. Scared. It wouldn't do her any good. She cleared her throat loudly and tried once more. 'Hello?'

Only silence answered her. Moonlight cast thin horizontal lines across her body as it filtered through the cracks between panels of wood that surrounded her. Leaning forward, she strained to get a glimpse of what lay outside. Her nose crinkled as the foul scent that had seeped into the wood tingled its insides once more.

Around ten metres away from where she was held captive she could see a house, one of its windows blazing with light and smoke lingering near the chimney before disappearing into the dark night sky. Faint music continued to sound from its direction, and she found herself straining to recognize its tune.

A few minutes later she found herself listening to the soft whimpering of another feminine voice.

A chill ran up her spine as it suddenly escalated into a shrill scream.

'No, please…no not again…please - please leave me alone…'

A soft cruel laugh followed, followed by a gunshot. Alice closed her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. Her eyes shot open as she realized in horror that the whimpers had not stopped.

'Please…just…just kill me…'

God.

She felt her fingertips quiver as she realized whatever was happening to the other woman somewhere in the vicinity could be her own fate in a few hours time.

Burying her face into her knees, she let herself cry, refraining from screaming as to not gain the attention of her abductor and whoever was torturing the other woman. Nausea filled her gut and she could almost taste the guilt she felt as she heard the woman scream again. Rocking herself back and forward, she filled her mind with other images in an effort to tell herself that it was a dream.

It was all a dream.

.

.

.

A blonde dressed in the pink pin-striped waitress uniform greeted Aaron and JJ with a welcoming smile. The scent of coffee and fry ups bombarded their senses as the door closed behind them.

'Welcome, what can I do for you?' She spoke in a heavy southern accent. Her smile faltered slightly as they displayed their badges.

'We're from the FBI, we would just like to ask a few questions.'

'There were already two of you here this morning – what else did you need?' She asked, grabbing a cloth and proceeding to wipe the counter down. 'Harry's already gone home.'

'We aren't here to talk to Mr. Jones ma'am, we just need you to tell us if you've seen a man fitting our description.' JJ spoke up.

The waitress's face visibly softened. 'What would you like to know?'

As JJ leaned closer to the counter to deliver the profile, Aaron slowly turned his back to the counter to glance around the café.

'We're looking for a white male in his mid 40's to 50's, he would have acted shy, quiet, reserved to the point where he seemed anti social, particularly around women. We're thinking he may be a regular here.'

Aaron could hear JJ's voice in the background as he surveyed the customers of the cafe.

It had been somewhere in this place – perhaps that very counter or the seat over there, where the man would have sat, watching each and every move of the female agent the moment she had entered the door.

And they had missed him.

The cheerful tone of the waitress as she confirmed the profile provided prompted Aaron to turn around.

'You mean Mr. Scotts? Yeah, he comes here almost every day! Lovely darling, a bit shy, sure, but extremely gentle. Wouldn't hurt a fly.'

'Would you happen to know his full name?' JJ asked.

The waitress nodded. 'I think it's Allan Scotts –' at this point Aaron retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number to inform Garcia of their possible suspect '– it took me ages to get a name out of him at the time. We like to be familiar with the regulars here.' She blessed the agents with one of her warm smiles saved for her best customers.

'Garcia I need you to look up anyone around Barlow by the name of Allan Scotts. He may be our possible suspect.'

The waitress' eyes widened as she stared at JJ, her smiling fading '…suspect? What's this about?'

JJ refrained from grimacing and replied, 'We're investigating a series of abductions and murders.'

'Oh…'

JJ was met with an expression not of disgust or apprehension, but curiosity, and she found herself dreading the potential questions the waitress would ask. Her supervisor spoke up, placing the card on the counter to catch the woman's attention before she could do anything else. 'Thank you for your cooperation. If you remember anything else, please contact us.'

The card had served well as a diversion; in the time that the waitress was preoccupied with the card on the counter and before she could inquire further, Aaron and JJ had exited the door, leaving the smell of fried cuisines behind them in the café.

In minutes the police station was informed to send backup to the designated address, while the two agents boarded their SUV, then drove off.

.

.

.

It had not taken them a very long time for the back up officers to arrive with the appropriate gear, and with the assistance of Ranger Johnson, the three agents and Detective Thompson were able to safely descend the cliff.

The site soon became marked as a crime scene with the familiar yellow caution tape, several of the back up officers sent to the nearby areas around the three corpses to check if any evidence of the unsub had endured the years.

What awaited them made it almost a relief to have arrived seven years after the victims' deaths, providing plenty of time for nature and time to do its job on the organic matter that remained after their souls had been forced from their bodies. However, the sadistic manipulation of the remains was blatant even without the very flesh and blood that had slowly weathered away.

Detective Thompson's face looked grim, David dully noted, indicating that he had indeed been true to his word, of having been part of this profession for quite some time. He was not one of those who were able to completely detach themselves from what they saw, yet was not one to let it get to them either. Not enough to affect their position in this world in at least.

The three remains, now reduced to parts of skeletons, hung impaled on thick trunks of polished wood that sprouted from a layer of dead leaves on the ground. The sticks reached towards the sky, penetrating through the centre of each of the bodies, its ends protruding from both the mouth then meeting the ground from their rear ends.

Detective Thompson tore his eyes away. The familiar feeling of guilt mixed with despair churned in his gut, and he tried to push it away, telling himself that he would allow it to return at night when he was alone. Part of the guilt was that no matter how sickening a sight he uncovered that once again reminded him of the depravity of the human mind, nausea was never one of those feelings that plagued him.

'Why are there only three?' David was the first to point out the most obvious peculiarity of the dump site.

'He's obviously disposed of the fourth body somewhere else – perhaps these were done before the first body was discovered.' Emily replied.

'He had nailed their ankles and skulls to the pieces of wood so they wouldn't slide down.' Derek commented, frowning heavily as he scrutinized one of the skeletons.

'Well that explains why they're still suspended – otherwise the moment the skin and soft organic matter had decayed, they would have dropped to the ground.' Emily continued, adjusting the gloves on her hands.

'Hopefully the nailing was done postmortem.' Detective Thompson remarked grimly, forcing all tones of hope from his voice as he refrained from imagining the worst.

'Either way the corpses served some sort of value to the unsub – the fact that he paid so much attention to fixing them onto the wood suggests that he may have returned here time and time again to relive the events.' Emily said. 'They were almost like trophies, except in this case, a limb wasn't enough.'

'The bodies should be sent off for DNA testing – at least the families will gain some closure.' Detective Thompson said, his voice deep and tone kept monotonous. He gave one nod to the three agents, then turned towards the cliff they had descended as he held the cell phone tentatively to his ear.

'He's taking it hard, isn't he.' Emily commented.

'Probably one of the worse things he's seen during his time on the job.' Derek stated.

Seven years. Four women. Seven years during which the detective had been part of the police force, the powerful figures assigned to protect and serve, four women had been raped, tortured and then murdered. At least once during thoseseven years the detective may have had a time when the town seemed to be at peace – for a week, two, maybe more, until another crime arose.

And they too, refrained from mentioning this out loud, as at the end of the day, it was situations like these that reminded them of how painfully, futilely, human they were. The detective's sentiment toward this crime was universal between them. Despite having the badge where their hearts were and the gun at their hip representing what they stood for in their line of professions, ultimately situations like this made their limitations all too apparent.

'He probably wanted the skeletons to remain behind as mementos of his works, perhaps.' David said. 'The flesh was probably consumed by animals too – there seems to be teeth marks present on some of the bones.' He gestured gently at specific parts of the skeleton before them.

'No evidence of clothing.' Derek said, facing his companions as a group of medics and others in uniforms descended down the cliff with body bags for the corpses. The clicking of the camera hastened as post mortem photos were taken.

'Meaning he had stripped them when he did this.' Emily commented, 'looks as if there's the pattern of evolution then – stripping them of their clothes, the physical representation of who they are, and thus ridding them of their identity.'

'Except now he's clothing them himself and giving them an identity he wants for them to have.'

Feeling a vibration in his pocket, Derek and Emily fell silent as David reached into it and placed it to his ear. 'Yeah, Hotch.'

The two agents watched his expression closely as they heard his replies.

'You sure? Right, we'll be on our way.'

A quiet single beep signaled the end of the conversation.

'What'd he say?'

David turned around and began pacing towards the cliff, followed by Derek and Emily who exchanged wary looks. He signaled to the blond detective who had just assisted the medics gently wrap up the first body, then informed them.

'Hotch has the location of the possible unsub. We're to head there now.'

And with that, their pace quickened.

.

.

.

Derek was at the wheel.

And as expected, the fact that they were on the possible trail of the unsub had further heightened his usual reckless driving. Emily watched him maneuver and alternate between the lanes, avoiding the slower cars in his way. Looking into the rear view mirror she noticed that they had left Detective Thompson's car, where David rode with him once more, and the police cars following them with blazing sirens a long way behind.

'What's bothering you.' She said when the deep frown present on Agent Morgan's face did not relax.

He refrained from sighing as he made a sharp turn around a corner to enter another branch of road.

'Prentiss, you remember when we were investigating the case involving the disappearances of homeless people and prostitutes?'

She gave a single nod. 'Yeah, with William Hightower.'

'We had originally gone to look for what we thought were ten people. Ten missing cases.'

Another sharp turn.

'Turned out to be eighty-nine.' She said, turning her eyes towards the road in front of them.

'During that time, when those people were being murdered, where were we.'

'You mentioned it at the time – no matter how good we are at the things we do, it will never stop.' She said.

'I know.' His voice sounded strained as he continued. 'Sometimes I think the only things that separate us from the people who watch this stuff happen on the news is the utensils we carry around. The guns, the badges, our credentials.'

Another sharp turn as he overtook a red car.

'Sure, we prevent the guy from ever doing it again – and even then sometimes it just doesn't end the way we want it to. We catch one. But then there's another. And when we're going after yet another one of them, there's another one out there, committing crimes of ultimately equal magnitude done by the one we're trying to catch.'

She gave another nod, and noticed the police cars in the rear view mirror reduce in size as Derek slammed his foot down on the accelerator particularly hard.

'Then we have the victims. And I know you know I'm not just talking about the eighty-nine that were murdered.

'The unsubs tend to turn out to be victims themselves.' She confirmed.

'It never. Fucking. Ends.'

'I know.' Emily replied. Then after a few seconds, she stated, 'and that's why we're here, yet again. That's why we're going to catch this guy, like we've done many times before.'

She had only realized that she had been holding her breath in when she found herself exhaling deeply as she felt the SUV's turbulence visibly reduce. By the time they had passed the next light, the frown on Derek's face had transformed itself into an expression of determination.

.

.

.

A dilapidated house awaited their arrival, with an overgrown garden choked full with weeds and bits and pieces of rubbish and rusty appliances had taken over what had once been the path way to the front door. It was situated in a quiet area, relatively isolated with at least several miles distancing each house. The distance between its location and the unsub's original graveyard had not been far, further confirming the geographical profile they had derived using the possible short time that had taken for the unsub to take, develop and send the photo of Emily to the police station. Parked in front of the large yard were five police cars and a black SUV.

JJ greeted the three agents and Detective Thompson with a nod as they emerged from their vehicle wearing the appropriate gear and approached her.

'This our guy?'

JJ gave a slight shake of her head at Agent Rossi's question. 'We're not sure yet – we infiltrated the place not long before you arrived. The house is empty. Hotch is out in the back with the officers right now.'

With that, JJ accompanied Emily, Derek, David and Detective Thompson into the house.

The first thing that greeted them as they entered the place was a putrid smell, a combination between the food that lay in clumps on dirty dishes, several of which were piled messily on top of one another on several counters and furniture of the house, while plates and cutlery that lay in the kitchen sink were half submerged in murky green static water.

Flies buzzed around the remaining bits of food, and JJ crinkled her nose in disgust as on closer inspection the white surface began to move, revealing themselves as maggots.

The house was dark despite the bright weather outside and having all the lights on. The majority of the fluorescent bulbs however, were either completely out or flickering feebly. Several windows were either broken or cracked, the walls had once been white had faded into the colour of yellow cream and was blotchy with mould.

'Classic tracks.' Emily commented as she flipped through the records on dirty shelves. Dust had settled on the tops of the few books the inhabitant of the house had owned, the topics of no significant consistence or of possible relevance. Like a lot of the other things in this house, they were simply there.

'Guys? You should come and see this.'

Derek's voice prompted the agents and the detective to move from what seemed to be the lounge room of the tiny house into another, which held a small dining table – once again filled with plates and torn letters that signified overdue rents and electric bills – and an old computer on a study desk in the corner of the room.

The darker man stood before it, a strange noise they couldn't identify coming from the speakers on each side of the computer.

'What's that?' JJ asked.

Emily warily eyed the row of CDs that had been arranged neatly beside the computer, each of the cases immaculate and clean, a direct contrast to the general state of the house.

'The guy obviously uses these often.'

Derek did not respond and continued to stare intently at the screen. Inside the rectangular shape of a digital music player was video feedback of a woman walking across a street. The time displayed in the corner combined with the soft hum of a CD in the computer revealed that it was not live.

David reached over the keyboard and turned up the sound for the speakers just as the video screen darkened, then transitioned into a close up shot of the face of the same woman. Her dark brown hair was splayed around her face, clumped together at its ends in what looked to be blood. Tears were flowing down her contorted face, and they the reason for them became apparent when they heard the sounds of her voice begging.

'Please don't…'

Derek dialed the phone to Garcia as JJ looked away.

'Baby girl, I'm gonna need you to hack into one of the station computers later on to take a look at a few CDs.'

'Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like what I see.'

He paused as she gave a sigh. 'So I'll be expecting them in…?'

'Fifteen minutes or so. You're the best.'

'You know it!'

'It's possible that he only recorded the first four victims he tortured.' David commented as Derek hung up.

'Or each CD might reveal more victims than we know of.' Emily said, frowning as she counted the CDs. 'Twenty-five.'

'Let's hope that's not the case.' David said as he motioned to several police officers to collect the disks from the desk.

Loud yells from the backyard suddenly alerted the agents to dash out towards the back, their hands at the ready by their guns. A few metres away from the back door, their supervisor and three officers were apprehending a large blond, presumably Allan Scotts, the four men obviously experiencing difficulty in knocking him to the ground due to the frantic flailing of the hatchet in his hands. It did not take very long for Derek to join then, unperturbed by Allan's weapon and immediately succeeding in tackling the man to the ground then roughly restraining his hands behind his back.

His brows were furrowed in concentration as the man under him began to whimper in a manner completely contradictory to his appearance. 'I didn't fucking do anything!'

'If that's the case you ain't got nothing to worry about, do you now buddy.' Derek's voice became dangerous as he placed a knee on the man's back whilst checking the cuff's were securely in place. 'You have the right to remain silent – anything you say from this point on can and will be used against you.'

Tears began to trail down the man's cheeks, now smudged with dirt, as Derek jerked him upright in an almost cruel manner. 'Now, walk.'

The blond complied, but not before looking back at the small hut behind them. The door, consisting of several pieces of wood nailed together, had become unhinged upon the officers' entrance, and now lay on the ground, leaving a gaping hole as an entrance to the hut's interior.

'Get moving!' Another shove from the darker agent behind him prompted him to manage a feeble yet defiant shuffle. His glare suddenly intensified, eyes widening as he passed the three agents that stood watching him as he was made to leave.

His eye contact did not falter as Emily firmly met them, belonging to the man who had assaulted, tortured, and murdered a total of six women. So far. If he had not murdered the other two he had abducted recently.

We win.

Allan Scotts was the one forced to break their gaze first as the distance between him and the female agent grew with each step. Eventually, he disappeared around the side of the house, escorted by Agent Morgan and two other officers, where he would then be forced inside a police vehicle and taken down to the station for interrogation.

'Quite the actor.' Dave commented, before approaching the hut that Aaron motioned for them to enter.

The inside of the hut was dark, with no light bulbs to be found on the ceiling. Thin wires were suspended across the ceiling, where photographs of the brunette agent hung from them precariously with plastic clothes pegs.

The walls were covered in the same photograph, identical to the one sent to the station, as if the thousands of screens in a security office had been frozen and left on still frame.

.

.

.

It was times like this when Penelope felt as if she really hated her job.

Before even opening the files contained in the CD she was dreading what she would find, and regretted having allowed herself to relax when the clip had begun with a brunette walking along the street, as seconds later the seemingly harmless footage turned into a close up shot of a terrified expression of the same woman's face.

For an hour the videos dragged on, and by the end of it she felt as if she didn't know what was worse – watching explicit video footage of torture, or the close up expression of the victim, where every single different fixation of the muscle conveyed the pain of their ordeal whilst leaving the horror to the imagination of the viewer.

'Were you able to extract any voices?'

Her reply to Emily's question was blunt. 'No. Nothing but the women, no voices other than their…theirs.'

She looked down at the keyboard once more before reaching out to disconnect the connection between her system and the computer at the police station. 'I'm done. You know who to call.'

'Alright?'

It was Derek.

'No. Nothing seems to have been edited out so he probably didn't say anything when he was filming…yeah. And now after having gone through that, if you have anything more for me to see you will have to give me at least an hour or so for me to spend time with photos of baby kittens to recover. Garcia out.'

She exhaled deeply and leaned back into her chair, gaze focused on the cup full of fluffy pens next to her computer. Seconds later however, her attention was back on screen, hoping that each time she typed in a word, it would lead to a lead or discovery that would prevent the things that the women recorded on the CDs had experienced from happening again.

.

.

.

No remorse.

It was the typical expression that would be expected from a man like him.

'This our guy?'

Detective Thompson questioned.

Aaron gave a silent nod and returned his gaze to the man behind the glass, studying his face for tell tale signs that could confirm their assumptions. His eyes narrowed sharply as the man's fidgeting abruptly came to an end, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his lips as if he had reached an epiphany or some sudden conclusion.

The door opened behind the two men, admitting Emily and Dave.

'Well, there is some good news.' Emily started, 'The three women filmed on the CDs were the three victims whose bodies we found today. Meaning there probably aren't any other bodies apart from the fourth we couldn't find at his original dumpsite.'

'Then, there's the bad.' David stated, motioning outside the door. 'Garcia's waiting.'

Aaron gave him an acknowledging look, then faced Emily. 'Prentiss, I'd like you to interview him.'

The brunette gave a nod, 'okay.'

'You sure about this Hotch?' Derek asked, one eyebrow raised hesitantly and closing the folder he held in his hands.

'We have two women missing. This will be the fastest way into his head.' Aaron gave the darker agent a knowing look, then turned to Emily once more.

'Just keep in mind, they are our foremost priority. He needs to tell us where they are.' Aaron said as he side glanced at the man behind the glass.

'I know.'

'We're dealing with a narcissist – it's most likely he's proud of what he's done and chances are he's going to remember every single act and fantasy he played out on his victims,' David added, lingering at the doorway.

'Which we will be able to use to our advantage,' she finished, nodding slowly as she tilted her head to face the glass. Emily unfolded her arms and reached out towards Derek's to grab the case file containing the photos of the victims. She then turned towards Aaron and nodded, prompting the supervisor to open it and enter first.

As the two agents disappeared behind the door that admitted them into the same room as Allan Scotts, the rest of the agents and Detective Thompson made their exits and advanced towards the desk just outside, where Spencer was eagerly awaiting their arrival.

'You ready Garcia?' Spencer asked into the phone on the desk that had been placed on loudspeaker.

'Sugar, since when am I ever not.' Penelope replied to Reid light heartedly.

Reid shrugged and gave a quick nod and murmured contemplatively. 'That's true.'

'Okay, now I have some good news, and some bad news. The good news is I dug through the life of this sick bastard and found some links as to how he…how he got to be the way he is. His mother was single, basically worked cleaning shifts at a local realtors by day and prostitute by night in order to make ends meet – not much fun for the little tyke.'

'Realtors – so that would explain his association between career women and the concept of power.' Derek commented.

'And the bad news?' questioned Dave.

'There currently aren't any direct or significant connections between a possible farming or a ranger background.'

'Well it's gotta be in there somewhere,' Detective Thompson said, agitation present in his voice. 'We found the stacks of CDs and the photos of Agent Prentiss in the shack in his backyard.'

'If the guy hasn't had any training to understand and effectively move around the terrains of the national park there's no way he could have descended that cliff down to his dump site.' Derek said, 'Ranger Johnson said at the time – even people like him would find it difficult to achieve the feat and avoid it if possible.'

'It's a crucial part of the profile.'

Detective Thompson's face fell. 'Where the hell is this going?'

'Well it means either,' David started, unfolding his arms and facing the direction of the interrogation room. 'We have the wrong guy.'

'Or we may have two unsubs in our hands.' Derek finished, pushing himself away from the desk and heading towards the room.

.

.

.

Three photos of three brightly smiling women were laid out in front of him. His hands shook in excitement, cheeks flushed red and eyes wide open as he surveyed the beauties before him.

'Finally we meet.' He whispered.

'What?'

Allan Scotts jerked his vision away as the tall male agent, whose arms had been sternly folded ever since his entrance, lowered his deep voice dangerously.

'Nothing.' He replied, but failed to resist the temptation to take another peek at the photos.

'Do you know who these women are, Mr Scotts.' Emily asked, tapping at the first photo onto the man's left.

She watched as the corners of his lips trembled slightly, then turned up to form a smile.

'Yeah. On them CDs.' His grin widened as he realized that she had given him a reason to continue staring at the women before him. 'They're real pretty aren't they.'

'You know, for a man who protested so strongly against having done anything, you're strangely calm,' Aaron started.

'Not to mention avidly interested.' Emily added, folding her hands neatly on top of one another as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

The blond did not avert his gaze, but lifted a fist to prop his chin on top, then continued to stare down at the photos, his head leaning softly from side to side like a child debating on which toy to choose.

'Do you know what happened to these women, Mr Scotts.' Emily prompted again in a sharper tone.

Though the man's next words were barely above a whisper, the silence of the room enabled the two agents to hear and recognize each and every word.

'No, please…' The man's voice was wispy and strained to a higher tone as he attemped to mimic the memories prompted by the photos on the desk. 'Let me go…'

The three male agents watched from behind the glass as Aaron and Emily faced the blond across the table.

'What the hell is he doing.' Derek growled, his tone low as though he didn't want to believe what he thought it was.

'He's reciting what the first victim said on the video recording…'Spencer replied, tapping his chin thoughtfully with his finger as he watched the movement of the blond's lips.

'Mr Scotts.' Emily demanded sharply, prompting the man to slowly tilt his head towards her like the spinning heads of the clown games at the fair. 'Maybe you could tell us what happened to these women.'

His eyes, which had been wide open in a dazed, dreamy state since he had seen the photos, suddenly arched into crescent moon shapes similar to the exaggerated expressions of theatre masks. 'You.'

The man's words and gaze sparked a sudden chill down her spine, and she instinctively tilted her head back slightly to look down at the man before her despite sitting at his eye level.

'I've been wanting to meet you. For soooooooo long,' he drawled out, lengthening his 'so' to place emphasis on the word. 'Have you been wanting to see me?'

When she did not reply but narrowed her eyes, he gave a soft giggle and averted his gaze to the surface of the table. Lifting a finger tentatively he tapped the smooth surface, then drew invisible circles over and over again.

The loud noise of a hand heavily slamming down onto the table sounded, its reverberation against the corners of the room drowned out by the hollering voice that followed.

'Where are they!'

The man's finger came to a slow stop. He tilted his head to the side, mimicking the motions he had previously executed. This time however, his eyes had shifted their shape from the dreamy crescent moons to an angry glare.

'Where's the other one?' He demanded softly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning towards the tall man, who stood over the table with both his hands planted on its surface.

'Who.' Emily asked.

The man didn't meet her eyes, but instead looked down at the table before replying, his fists balled as if angry. 'That man!' His voice rose abruptly as he inhaled deeply before continuing. 'Who got me.'

'He means you,' David said to Derek, raising an eyebrow.

'Look at the way he's clenching his fists,' Spencer pointed out. 'The fact that he avoided eye contact with Emily before mentioning Derek suggests that he's not angry – he almost seems...'

'Humiliated at what happened.' Derek finished.

''Finally we meet'…' Spencer murmured softly.

'Tell us what happened to these women.' Emily ordered quickly as she felt her supervisor's form stiffen next to her.

He turned his gaze to hers, his lips softening into a wide, lopsided grin.

'They screamed.' A soft laugh followed as he averted his gaze once again to the table. 'They screamed real good. They begged too.'

'What did you do to them Mr Scotts.'

'Did you see them?' He asked, his voice almost timid. 'The way they cried?'

'If you mean the videos, yes we did watch them.' She replied blankly, exchanging glances with Hotch, who, upon giving her a knowing look, suddenly appeared a lot older under the harsh light of the interrogation room.

'Weren't they pretty?' Scotts turned away once again before side glancing continuously at the female agent before him. 'None as pretty as you though. Did you know that?'

'So far he hasn't exhibited any typical narcissistic behaviour,' Dave commented, observing the scene behind the window with his hands in his suit pockets.

'Look at how he looks away when he's speaking to Emily – he can't meet her eye, often people exhibit behaviour like that in adulation or admiration; there's nothing arrogant about it. The way he's glancing sideways at her, it's flirtatious submissive behaviour.' Spencer explained.

'He hasn't mentioned anything about the victims about from their screaming – most of the time narcissist can't wait to boast about what they've done. This guy's different.' Derek said.

'Finally we meet…' Spencer murmured once more. 'You know, it doesn't seem as if he's ever actually met these women before.'

The gazes of his two companions prompted him to continue.

''Finally we meet,' he said that when he first saw the photos of the victims. The fact that he mimicked their voices and dialogue, it shows that he's trying to connect the faces in the photo with the images he's had of video he's been viewing on the CDs – it would explain why he was so fixated on the photos rather than explaining what he had done to them.'

Spencer paused, continuing once he saw that the two agents had understood. 'Chances are…he's only ever seen them on film, he's never had a chance to act out his own fantasies on those victims because they were never his own.'

'So he never had anything to explain to begin with.' David concluded, frowning deeply.

Derek gave a hearty sigh and gave a soft tap on the door where Emily and Aaron were. 'Looks like we're back to square one.'

.

.

.

Detective Thompson's face had taken a completely opposite turn as he watched the agents emerge from the room with a stern expression.

'Well then that was a complete waste of time,' he spat bitterly.

'He wasn't the guy we were looking for, but chances are,' David glanced back towards the room, 'he would have killed eventually.'

'And how would you know that,' Detective Thompson gave a scoff, 'oh I know. Your profile. Is that it.'

'We won't need to build a profile for this guy.' Aaron stated. 'Not if you keep him under watch. He might not be the guy we want right now but he has been exhibiting behaviour of a disturbed individual that could potentially escalate into sexual crimes.

'Oh you just have an answer for everything, don't you.' He remarked disdainfully.

'Has Garcia found anything yet?' Derek asked JJ.

She shook her head. 'She's trying to get a hold of the previous owner, or at least where he lives, but it looks as if the house was originally abandoned – at least before Scotts. She's also been cross referencing Wyandotte chicken farms with individuals of a ranger background but even that hasn't narrowed down the list yet.'

Derek gazed sideways at Aaron, arms folded over his chest. 'Where to now Hotch.'

He looked around at his team members, knowing another decision, one that once again delayed their current abductees of rescue, had to be made.

'We'll go back and interview the victims' families again – he ignored Detective Thompson's exasperated sigh, and raised his eyebrows in a warning manner at Derek – Prentiss, Morgan, I want you to interview Alice Timmons and Marie Williams, JJ, I want you to work out a profile to announce to the press.' He then turned to Detective Thompson. 'Detective, I'd like you to go over the case files of the other victims with Reid and myself to make sure we have not missed anything.'

'For god's sake, what good will this all do!' Detective Thompson raised his voice. 'We have two women out there –'

'Hey, back off!' Derek retaliated, unfolding his arms and holding them by his sides in a threatening stance. 'We're doing the best we can. The best you can and you know it.'

Detective Thompsons smirked at the dark agent, satisfied to have gained a response. 'Oh, sorry did I offend you. I just wouldn't know what else to call it – he averted his eyes in an exaggerated manner, then locked gazes with Derek once more, this time his eyes cold and unforgiving – just seems a waste of time – when you're going to be visiting these same families again maybe even tomorrow, except this time, with the news of their dead baby.'

'You son – '

'Morgan.' Their supervisor's foreboding voice stopped the man in his tracks. 'A talk. Now.' He passed the blond pointedly and entered a room, followed by Derek.

Derek heard the light click as his supervisor closed the door behind them. He attempted to suppress the heavy sensation of anger welling up inside his chest, knowing that having most of it out of the way, at least during this conversation, would be essential in getting his thoughts across. And leaving his mind open for what was to come.

'You're out of line, Morgan,' Aaron stated to the man before him. 'You know we need to work together with Detective Thompson. He's in charge of this case meaning if he no longer feels that we cannot cooperate, he's at liberty to put a stop to our stay.'

'I know that Hotch.' Derek turned to him. 'But what about him cooperating with us. He's been giving us nothing but dirt since our arrival and you know it.'

'I know.' Aaron replied, his voice softer but remaining firm. 'But we've worked with officers like this before, and this should be no different. Detective Thompson's a good cop, he's just too emotionally invested in the current case.'

Derek gave a hearty sigh and looked away in an irritated manner.

'Let's just keep it together until we finish this case. We need all heads here.'

Despite his expression, which remained defiant, he gave a curt reply. 'Gotcha.'

'Emily's waiting for you outside,' JJ said when Derek emerged from the room. He gave her a nod, gave another check that he had everything, then forwarded out the door.

A few seconds later, two gunshots were heard outside the police station.


	5. Chapter 5

Emily Prentiss guessed that Derek was still talking to Aaron as she sat waiting in the car after she had checked the SUV had their Kevlar bullet proof vests and the victim case files. She glanced at the watch on her wrist and made sure the key was in the ignition once more to ensure they would be able to leave upon his arrival.

The door opened, allowing the larger man inside.

'Mor-'

Her voice halted abruptly as she felt the cold snout of a revolver at her temple. Her eyes widened as they rested on an unfamiliar face.

'Hello. Missed me?'

.

.

.

"If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world."

Mercedes Lackey

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.

.

It wasn't fear that froze her to the seat. It was the knowledge that any move she made now would be used against her and would be rendered completely useless. A narcissist. Obsession for control. She knew that he would not hesitate to pull the trigger – whether it was with the intention to kill or temporarily maim. So she did what she concluded to be the best solution given the circumstance.

Her mask was up, her face emotionless. He couldn't touch her.

A few seconds later, all four doors to the SUV had been locked, her glock no longer at her hip and the handcuffs she routinely carried around had chained both her hands to the steering wheel. A duct tape had been roughly placed over her lips, an act that would have been pointless had it not been for her knowledge of Derek's due arrival.

The man remained staring, as did she, eyes fixed in a blank glare, head slightly tilted back to look down at him.

She watched intently as he reached over with deliberate slowness to the door next to him, and flicked the door switch to unlock it.

'Agent Prentiss.'

He spoke, his voice deep and maliciously calm.

'Looking at you right now truly makes me wonder what horrors you've seen in your life.' The right corner of his lips flicked up to form a twisted smirk. 'Of course, I'm sure you know what it feels like,' he pursued, 'to have a total stranger die in front of your eyes.'

The man reached up despite their warning and slit his throat with the knife. Without a word, David, Hotch and she knew – he was gone. The moment the man had successfully detonated the bomb contained in the ambulance which Morgan had driven out of the hospital, his life had fulfilled its purpose.

'I wonder though,' he said, deliberately brandishing her glock in front of her face, gazing at it from all angles in an admiring manner, 'if you know how it feels, to have a person you love die in front of your eyes.'

He then turned his gaze towards hers, searching her face for signs of emotion. His grin widened as she inhaled sharply after spotting Derek's figure approach the car in brisk steps.

She knew how it could have been.

Derek would have boarded the vehicle, apologized for how late he was, then cracked a joke about what had happened. Maybe even tried to snatch the car keys from the ignition, jokingly making comments about women and driving that would prompt her to label both him and his comments as sexist.

'And you, not be able to do anything…not even scream for them, as they walk right in…'

Derek was only a metre away from the car now, hand reaching out to grab the handle.

SHIT.

'To not even be able to utter a groan. A sound. A warning of some kind.'

The car door opened with a click, everything slowing down from that second on. The man pointed the glock towards the door. His voice lowered to a bare whisper.

'To only be able to manage a complete. And utter.'

The door to the black SUV opened, and would have allowed the larger man in, had it not been for the passenger who had already been present on the designated seat. Derek's gaze that had been previously averted towards the ground widened in rapid realization as he gazed on the sight the team had been dreading and worked to prevent for the past few days. The realization, and despite their rapid instinctive movements, his hands proved useless as the two bullets pierced his torso with a pair of consecutive firing sounds.

The gun shots rang loud and clear, one after the other, followed by a loud smashing sound as the close range impact propelled Morgan back into the car that had been parked beside the SUV. The piercing sound of the car's alarm blared across the car park.

'Silence.' Came the final word.

The man's smirk disappeared as he slammed the door shut. He pressed the revolver against her head with greater force than before, and commanded.

'Drive.'

.

.

.

The first thing the team saw upon running out into the car park, their pistols at the ready by their sides, was the pool of blood that was increasing in diameter with each passing second beneath a car.

Agent Derek Morgan lay slumped against it next to an empty park space, painfully marking the now empty space that the black SUV had occupied only mere seconds ago. Two bullets holes punctured his torso, his dark grey shirt now stained to a black around its areas. His eyes were slightly open, pupils rolled back.

'We need the medics!'

The car alarm's loud, mournful wails were ignored despite its loud volume, the panic present in the scene rendering it inaudible to the attention of those present. Only ten minutes later after the dark agent had been strapped to a carry bed and into an ambulance, did someone reach into the car through its broken window, unlock the door, and turn its alarm off.

'Is he going to be okay?' JJ asked softly as Aaron returned to where his team was standing after having seen Derek off.

He did not meet her gaze, focusing his vision on the crime scene before them. 'I don't know. He's lost a lot of blood and the bullets penetrated his chest at close range.'

Dave, who had been intently studying two bullet shells on the ground, tentatively held up one of the blood covered shells. 'These are .19s.'

'From Prentiss's gun?' JJ asked. 'Wait you don't think she – '

'He's toying with her.' Dave said. 'We got his method of abduction wrong.'

'He gets into the car next to her; the door would have been unlocked for Morgan.' Aaron continued, arms folded across his chest.

'The guy's an opportunist. He's meticulous – to a point where he doesn't risk physical injuries or contact by abducting them directly into his car.' Spencer said. 'He establishes his dominance and power the moment he makes his first entrance. He would most likely have been armed; it - it would be the first thing Emily would have even felt before noticing that he wasn't Morgan.'

'It would explain why we never found any of the victims' vehicles,' Aaron evaluated.

'He waits, watching. Then when the perfect moment arises,' Dave murmured, frown deepening as he scrutinized the team, 'he strikes.'

.

.

.

'How did that feel, Agent.'

'All you had to do, was scream, to warn him away, and yet you didn't even try.'

'You were scared weren't you – so scared you were willing to blame this all on the duct tape I placed over your mouth.'

'Yet you don't look frightened at all – are you for real? Or is this another act you're so good at putting up.'

'You ignored me then too – just let me waltz past, completely oblivious that I had seen you. I bet you pretended didn't you bitch, you're gonna pay for it too.'

'You're the first of your kind – I'm going to take my time with you – and trust me, you won't enjoy it.'

A dull pain persisted in her head as her eyes opened to a dark room. A musty smell filled her nose as the scene of light filtering through plastic shades met her sight. She lifted her head, frowning at the pain that intensified with the action.

Get the fuck up.

She forcefully lifted herself upright, now resting on her legs as she tugged at her hands that had strangely been bound in front of her. Her gaze suddenly swirled in front of her as she attempted to stand, causing her to falter and fall hard to the floor once more. Cursing mentally, she once again lifted herself up, slowly this time, giving her mind and body to come together once more.

It was only after she had tried to lift her left knee in an attempt to place her left foot on the ground she became aware of the bounds that were tying her ankles together. Groggily, she forced her fingers to work a nimble task of untying the thick ropes that restrained her legs.

After what seemed like a period equivalent to a year, her ankles were freed, and she then began to work on her wrists, attempting to pull them out from the ropes by forcing the corner of her heel in between them. A warm trickle ran down her wrist, and she upon bringing her hands up to her eyes she finally realized that binding them together was not the rope used for her legs, but wire.

Shit.

Doing her best to ignore the persistent pounding in her head, Emily, slowly this time, edged her right wrist first from the wire, followed by her left, one painful inch by another. Despite the groggy sensation in her head, the sounds of her breathing heavily and the hot oozing of blood down both her wrists were crystal clear.

Lifting a hand up tentatively to rub her forehead, Emily leant against the wall for support for a few seconds to compose her balance once more. The room spun as she took a step forward, then another. She could see the door, and found her attention focused on it only, shuffling towards it in almost a trance like state as something told her that freedom was just on its other side.

Her biological instincts took over as she drifted in and out of consciousness with each step, escape somehow prioritized despite her incomprehension of the situation.

One more. Then another.

The door was just within reach…

Sunlight blinded her eyes as she emerged from the door and leant on its frame, breathing heavily as she blinked to regain her vision.

A junk yard.

Was the first thing that entered her mind. In the fresh air her consciousness seemed to return despite the fact that the pounding in her head remained to persevere relentlessly. Emily reached to her side instinctively for her glock, and felt almost surprised before remembering its absence, and along with it, fragments of the previous events.

Cars. Vehicle parts of rusted metal cluttered the yard before her, while a pile of tyres emitted a putrid odour as they burned in a small bonfire.

No telephone lines as far as the eye could see.

She reached into her pocket, rapidly withdrawing her cell phone upon feeling its bulk. So he hadn't taken her communication away.

Idiot.

She regretted the thought and doubted whether she had recovered from the blunt trauma she had received in the car yet as she gazed upon an empty bar at the corner of its screen, indicating a complete lack of cell signals within the area.

He hadn't forgotten to take it away; there had just been no need to.

.

.

.

It was the continued sobbing of a female voice that drew her to the largest rusty corrugated iron shed a few feet away. She looked around cautiously, staying close to the walls of the several sheds that littered the area and stepping slowly. The shed lay past the large pick up truck that stood parked, the large trailer surrounded by wire mesh she had been held captive in just previously still attached to the larger vehicle.

Her senses finally seemed to shift back into gear as her work instincts kicked in, pushing the pain in her head into the background as she focused solely on the sounds.

'No!'

A piercing yet slightly muffled scream drowned into sobs, followed by the sharp ringing of a gunshot.

'How do you like that, bitch! Hah hah!'

The familiar male voice induced her hands to clench, her throat tightening in the familiar sensation of rage.

Another gun shot.

Through the rear view mirror she could see Morgan slumped against the car, alarm blaring and the dark red that used to flow in his body now spilling onto the ground, flooding the grey concrete black.

The revolver pressing against her temple shifted her attention back to the road before her, and just before the police station disappeared from her view, she managed to gain a glimpse her team emerging from the station, guns drawn at the ready.

Emily knelt down on one knee tentatively to steady herself, and peered through one of the holes on the iron wall.

A dimly lit room met her gaze, light filtering through two dusty windows on the roof and in columns through the tiny dots on the walls. A desk lay against one of them, several guns set out in a careless pile on top. Bullet shells, both empty and new, scattered around its surface. Her eyes followed its messy trail as they lead her to two figures standing in the middle of the room.

Another shot rang out, this time followed by a clang of iron as it pierced another hole through the wall behind the woman whose hands had been bound behind a wooden pole, imprisoning her to the stake and at the mercy of the man before her.

'Haha! Missed!'

The man's cruel laughter prompted the woman to turn away, tears unstoppable as they rolled down her flushed blotchy cheeks. Emily quickly searched Marie's body for possible wounds as she recognized her pain contorted expression, then realized the reason as the man fired another shot that just missed her bulging belly.

'Look at that one! Did ya see that? So damn close! What would you have done if I shot it, huh?'

Marie's wails send a chill down Emily's spine as if someone had slipped a piece of ice down the back of her blouse. A sound of pure anguish that it almost seemed animal, almost impossible to have been emitted by a human.

Fucking son of a bitch.

She had to put a stop to this now.

Emily spotted the door just a few metres away from the unsub, which ruled out her option of using on of the rifles to apprehend him. She looked over her shoulder, eyes busily searching for something that could be of use.

A distraction.

Anything.

The large pick up truck once again came into her view.

Bingo.

Another shot from the man's shot gun, followed by Marie's painful scream.

Emily moved quickly, maneuvering carefully around the pieces of junk, most large enough to provide her cover, towards the blazing bon fire that lay a few feet away. The stench of burning rubber filled her lungs, while the burning heat caused her to slow her steps and back away slightly.

She looked around, reaching out to grab a long soiled rag that lay hung over the edge of a large can. A familiar smell wafted from it as she lifted it from the can.

Petrol.

She submerged one end of the rag deeply into the can once more, then, stepping in as close as she could bear to the flames, threw the soaking end into the flames. Immediately the heat began to scald her hands, the flames clinging to the fabric and intensifying with each step as she dragged it rapidly towards the pick up truck. Crouching next to the window furthest away from the shed, she waited patiently for her chance.

Bang.

Timing it with the shot gun sound, she slammed her elbow into the window, adrenaline dismissing the pain that shot up her arm with the pieces of glass that bit into it.

A large wail of the pick up's alarm sounded, and she threw the blazing piece of fabric into the seat of the car. The flames quickly caught onto the dry fibres, the alarm almost an ironic melody that accompanied its dance.

It was her cue to get away as a loud 'What the FUCK!' sounded from the shed, followed by the slamming of the door.

Emily, losing no time, quickly moved behind the piles of junk that cluttered the yard and made her way towards the shed, her footsteps matching the heavy ones of the unsub.

Checking with a sense of relief as the unsub proceeded to holster the gun over onto his shoulder and look around the yard for a dry cloth to put out the blaze, she crept up to the shed door and placed a hand onto its handle, and slid it open.

.

.

.

Another sob escaped Marie Williams' lips as she heard the door slide open. She let out a shrill shriek that faltered mid way as in place of the fearful male figure, stood an unfamiliar brunette.

'Marie Williams?' the woman addressed, making her way towards the pile of guns that lay on the desk at the other side of the room.

She knew her name!

Marie nodded frantically, unable to string together a sentence, her voice thick with tears and coming out in short gasps. 'I…need-help…he – he…!'

The woman put a finger to her lips, creeping up to the wall to peer through one of the holes. The shrill noise was still in the air, accompanied by the man's barely audible curses.

She finally approached her, and placed the rifle she had retrieved from the table by Marie's feet. The sudden glint of a pen knife caught Marie's eye, and she could not stop the instinctive struggles in response to its presence.

'It's okay, it's okay,' the woman said, her voice low and firm, reaching out a hand in an effort to calm her. 'My name is Emily Prentiss, I'm with the FBI.'

Marie felt her breath slow down in relief upon the woman's words.

'I'm going to see if I can cut the ropes, okay?'

Marie nodded feebly, inhaling and exhaling loudly as she forced herself to calm down. Rescue was here.

'It's going to be alright.'

Wait a minute.

She watched in fear as the Agent Prentiss passed her, eyes focused on the blood congealing thickly around the female agent's wrists. Her breath picked up its speed once more.

'Did he bind you too?' She blurted out, eyes widening in a frightening realization. He had managed to capture one of the very person who had symbolised her way out. 'Oh god no…'

A sense of doom engulfed her once more as she dully noted the tugging she felt at her wrists as the agent worked at the bounds around her own wrists.

'No, no, no…' she repeated, her voice increasing and decreasing in pitch in a panicked manner.

'He's gonna kill us…isn't he…'

Emily stayed silent and meticulously worked at the task before her. The ropes had been bound tight. Having achieved her first task of reaching the victim successfully, Emily felt her hands slow down as the previous adrenaline rush began to wear off.

Her body began to feel heavy and the pain in the various parts of her body she had been able to ignore previously now returned at full force. The pounding in her head refused to cease as she attempted to roughly shake it off, while the raw wounds on her arm and both wrists proceeded to burn as if thousands of ants were biting at into them simultaneously.

And with the drop of the adrenaline rush and return of the fatigue came the memories of what had happened in the car park, which brought along with it, guilt and the groggy desire to relive it as a form of redemption.

As always, when she could no longer rely on her physique to focus, she turned to rage. She turned her attention to the sobbing of the victim, her stomach still intact, unlike the last victim they had been too late to safe.

Yet again.

The beeping of the heart monitor was barely audible over the several voices that spoke in panicked voices over Derek Morgan's body. The bright light illuminated the man's body to an ethereal blow, concealing the bloody mess that congregated around his stomach.

'It's like when the lion hunts the antelope'

Derek had said. And will continue to. She had to believe it. Emily continued to roughly cut into the ropes that bound Marie's wrists.

Aaron Hotchner, arms folded across his chest in his usual manner, gazed at his team. Or what was left of it. At the beginning of the day they had started off as the usual seven.

Marie Williams hysterically shook her hands free as the agent successfully managed to free them. Her breath came in short gasps as she struggled to swallow her sobs.

Now they had lost two, with the danger of never seeing either of them again. He watched as JJ sat slouched, chin propped up on her hand in silence. Spencer was beside her, gaze directed towards the ground in uncertainty. David was the only one who met his gaze.

You know what you have to do.

Without a word, Aaron placed in front of each of his members a copy of the autopsy report.

It was time to make every second count.

'Okay, okay, you're alright.' Emily encouraged softly, grabbing the rifle from the floor and gently directly the woman towards the door by her arm.

'Doctor, we're losing him!'

Before they could reach the door, it slid open, admitting the man inside. His lips were twisted in a wry, satisfied grin, his gun still idiotically holstered on his back.

Emily lead the woman to stand behind her and unlocked he safety of the rifle and pointed its tip at the unsub.

'Well, well well, what have we here?'

He clapped twice gleefully, slowly. 'Only a few minutes in and you're already so much fun, Agent.'

She stood, her hands and stance steady, trained expression masking her physical fatigue. Her gaze remained unafraid, controlled.

His eyes narrowed as she failed to falter even as he stepped closer.

'You gonna shoot, Agent?'

She was in control.

'Where is Alice Timmons.'

The man smirked, raising his hands in a challenging stance.

'Shoot me.'

'Where is she?'

'Shoot me!'

Click.

Her trained instincts caused her to pull the trigger as the unsub reached up quickly and flicked his rifle with his right hand. His grin only widened.

That dull, vacant sound was only noise the gun in her hands made.

The clip was empty.


	6. Chapter 6

The harsh monotonous extended beep in the operating theatre caused frenzy amongst its inhabitants.

The paddles of the defibrillator were quickly put in place on the man's torso.

'Clear!'

Derek Morgan's body gave a rapid jerk as waves of shock jolted through it.

Beeeeeeeeeeep.

'Clear!'

The monotonous sound continued sharply throughout the room, unfazed.

'Clear!'

Beeeeee – eep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The green straight line on the screen began to disrupt in jagged segments as Derek's heart once again started to beat, in time with the sound that came in short, sharp bleeps.

At once the atmosphere in the room shifted, the doctor breathing a sigh of relief.

'He's back.'

4:35pm.

Derek Morgan had returned to see another day.

.

.

.

The team members flipped through the documents in silence.

The tension within the room was evident as even Detective Thompson sat alone in one corner, chin propped against his hand and unable to find a snide remark to sum up the severity of their situation.

His eyes continued to read the same sentence over and over again, each time he reached its end finding that his thoughts had strayed and he had to start over once more.

Fuck.

His concentration was failing him, and he guessed it was the same for the FBI agents that sat around the desk, somehow managing to remain completely composed despite the loss of two companions.

He listened as a few words were exchanged between them, reminding himself for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour to focus on the page before him.

The loud buzzing of a cell phone broke the silence in the room.

'Agent Jareau.'

The team looked towards her expectedly, gauging her facial expressions.

'Right. Thank you.'

There was a dull beep as she hung up after the call. She looked up to the team with a relieved expression.

'Morgan's gonna be okay. He stabilized after the operation.' She managed a smile to meet the team. 'He'll have to stay in the ICU overnight but they think the anesthesia will wear off in an hour.'

Aaron hid a grin and gave a nod. 'Remember he's with the people who can help him the most; we need to keep our focus here.'

The ominous cloud over room seemed to have lessened as David spoke.

'So we have the first four victims who were first reported missing at around the same time; Mandy Jones, Sarah Parks, Julia Smith and Simone Dallas,' David started, looking around at the team expectedly.

'The three bodies we found at his main dumpsite belonged to the first three women out of the four he had abducted. Simone's body still remains missing.' Aaron continued. He opened the file containing the autopsy reports and began the evaluation. 'The autopsy reports state that they died at different times from natural causes.'

'From natural causes?' JJ raised an eyebrow.

'Well what they mean by natural causes here is that their deaths were not directly caused by the unsub, but more so the wounds they may have sustained during their containment,' Spencer opened the page to their predicted deaths. 'Mandy and Sarah died from infection while Julia…'

'Self-induced asphyxiation.' Aaron concluded as Spencer remained staring at the page.

JJ frowned. 'She did it to herself?'

'How can we be sure she wasn't strangled by the unsub?' Detective Thompson inquired, gripping at the page.

'It's not part of the unsub's signature.' Aaron stated, 'the autopsy reports bruising on Julia's sternum and the slight caving in of her ribcage, which are signs that suggest continuous attempts of resuscitation. Given the long period the unsub keeps his victims for he most likely impeded Julia's attempts of suicide.'

'Spence?' JJ questioned as she noticed Reid's intent gaze on the pages in front of him.

'How long did we estimate that the unsub kept his victims for?' Spencer asked, frantically looking through the pages containing the information of the victims.

'Two to three months, why?'

'Though that was based on only the most recent victims that had been found by the time we had taken this case,' Spencer said, looking up at his team mates. A familiar glint was evident in his eyes.

'What are you getting at Reid?' Aaron inquired, giving him a nod to continue.

'The time periods in which this unsub keeps his victims seems to be extremely irregular,' Spencer explained, 'More specifically, all this time we've been assuming that we just haven't found the bodies of the victims yet. What if – what if they can't be found cause there's none to be discovered?'

David looked through the pages in the folder before him, tracking the dates of the victims. 'He's right. Melanie and Lisa, the bodies that were found the day before yesterday had been reported missing months before Jenny, whose body was discovered the day before we received this case.'

'Same goes for Bethany and Joanie,' JJ said. 'Chronologically Melanie and Lisa were the second victims to have been abducted after his first four.'

'We also assumed that the years in which no new abductions or murders occurred was a period of recession for the unsub – but if you look at the estimated dates of death of our first four victims, three of whom had been impaled on the stakes, it coincides with the date of abduction of his next two victims – more precisely the reported disappearances of Melanie and Lisa,' Spencer explained.

'So there was no period of recession after the discovery of the first body – he just had no need to find new victims,' JJ concluded.

'At least not until the three that he had initially abducted died,' Aaron said. He looked up from the papers before him to survey the team.

'It's been five years since the unsub mounted the first three victims on those stakes. Assuming he hasn't murdered the fourth,' David calculated, gauging the reactions of his team members as a realization hit, 'He's still had Simone Dallas this entire time.'

'And the hell she must have seen during the seven years he's had her…'

.

.

.

Oh god, she could hear them. He was doing it again. Oh god.

Fear rippled through Simone's body with a chill as she recounted with each scream the hell she had been forced to endure every time with the man's arrival.

I could be next.

He could come again.

No. No.

I need to stay quiet. So quiet he won't notice me.

She felt her breathing pick up speed as she could hear the rapid beating of her pulse within her ears.

A gunshot. Then another scream.

She didn't know how much more she'd be able to take. She watched as her feet came near her vision, then far again as she rocked back and forth, hands clamped over her ears.

Her lips moved in silent whisper as she repeated the same word over and over again.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.

Familiar heavy footsteps alerted her, instincts forcing her to shuffle away from the mesh door until the barbed wire bit into her back, signaling that she had reached as far as she could run.

No! Not again, I can't take it anymore!

Smirking, the man crouched down, looking at her in a cruel, pleased manner.

He cocked an eyebrow as she whimpered the words that had been carved into her instincts to say upon his arrival.

'Please, I'll do anything you want me to…just please don't hurt me again…'

'I won't.'

Simone looked up at the man, eyes wide with hope. She faltered and broke down into heavy sobs once more as she met that familiar victorious grin.

'You know why – you never get boring?' He asked, tilting his head to survey her. 'That same trick, it always works. Always.'

He reached over towards the mesh door, leaning on it to stare into the woman's face.

'Just how gullible are you.'

'Please, I – I won't do it if you don't want me to anymore.'

'What you think,' his triumphant expression twisted into an ugly mask of anger. 'You think you choose to say these things? You think you can just, what, stop, whenever you want?'

He slammed a fist into the door, causing her to forcefully push against the barbed wire wall behind her.

'Well you're wrong. I fucking made you. I made you say these things.'

She nodded frantically, rapidly blinking her eyes in an effort to control the tears.

'You understand?'

The threat in his voice matched the glint in his eye as he glared the woman down. Then, once pleased, he sat himself down in front of the cage comfortably.

He continued to stare at her in silence, as she shifted under his gaze, clearly uncomfortable.

He loved it.

The feeling of being able to feel his strength without even touching the woman.

They were his prey, and him, their predator. Their only predator. At the top of the food chain. And he had the very prize that served as a reminder of this just a few feet away.

'Guess what.'

The woman's frightened eyes turned towards him once more, in the manner similar to a dog responding to his abusive master's call.

'You're gonna do something for me.'

The man reached over to the mesh door, gently pulling it open.

Simone's eyes widened in fear as he walked towards her in slow, ominous steps. As a hand reached over, she shut her eyes tightly.

A long night was ahead.

.

.

.

'Agent?'

'We're going to die I tell you, he's never gonna let us go alive!'

'Keep quiet, he'll come back!'

'What the fuck is the point, he'll be coming back anyway. He's not finished with us! Look – he caught you again even with the help of the police!'

'She's a federal agent.'

'A fed? Then what chance do we have?'

She was alone, now bound to the wooden stake that had imprisoned Marie only a short while ago.

Emily glanced around the room instinctively. She pulled at her bound wrists once again, despite the futility of the action. The wires had been bound tighter, this time around each individual wrist, aggravating the wounds that had been inflicted during her previous escape.

She laid back against the stake, breathing heavily, dully noting that the pounding in her head had lessened, albeit still painful, and took it as a positive sign of the previous concussion wearing off.

Heavy footsteps and panicked whimpering alerted Emily's senses, her gaze turning sharply to the door as it slid open roughly.

'Get in.'

She watched intently as the unsub dragged a woman she recognized to be Alice into the room by her hair, the woman's face contorted in the familiar expression of pain.

The man laughed as she kicked wildly, mockingly dodging her attempted assaults with simple, tiny movements.

'Let me go!' Alice twisted on the ground with force, reaching up with her bound hands and clinging to the man's wrist.

'Oh you think you're so – ARGH!'

The man yelled in pain, his triumphant grin twisted into shock as he held his hand, drops of blood congealing the spot where Alice had sunk her teeth into.

But not hard enough.

With a menacing grimace, the man lifted a fist, eyes fixed into a glare, dripping with murderous intent to pay the woman back for her actions.

'Can't even handle a bite. Figures.'

The man halted at Emily's clear remark, slowly turning to face her. He cocked his head, a loud crack sounding from his shoulder.

'Have something to say, Agent?' He asked, tone dangerous.

The man approached her, nearing her with each step. He gave a playful shrug, opening his arms wide as a challenge.

'Cause if you do, say it.' He looked around the room condescendingly. 'Or. You could even grab your gun. Or any – he motioned to the stack of guns that sat on the desk against the wall to her side – gun for that matter. And shootme.'

Her narrowed gaze turned into a glare as he finished his sentence with a mocking laugh, the rage that had previously subsided stirring once more.

'But you can't do that now. Can you. Cause I took it away from you. Didn't I.' He grinned, lifting his head to look down at the agent before him. 'You can't even protect thisbitch behind me. Look. She's right behind me. And you can't do anything can you.' He motioned to the woman who sat watching the two figures with frightened doe eyes.

'You couldn't do anything for that other woman either. Or her baby.'

Emily held her gaze high as the man walked slowly around where she stood bound, voice mocking and low.

She tensed as she felt his breath against her neck.

'Nor could you do anything for that black agent of yours.'

The rapid beating of her heart did not come from fear. Fear had been the only thing she had not felt even as the man had entered the SUV and forced her into the precarious distance of a bullet point away from death.

Fear was wasted on guys like him.

It was the anger, as she watched Alice's figure before her, tightly bound in ropes, and the strong front the woman had used to mask her fear slowly beginning to falter with the slight trembling of her body.

It was the disgust she felt, from the man's close distance; the unsub they had been after all this time, and not even being able to lay a finger on him to remind him of the pain he had caused to his very victims.

It was the helplessness and guilt that she continued to force down into the darker depths of her mind. Not for herself, but for Morgan and the conversation they had previously had that ironically rang so true in her current situation.

'Sometimes I think the only things that separate us from the people who watch this stuff happen on the news is the utensils we carry around. The guns, the badges, our credentials.'

Her gun had been removed. Her badge was a symbol that often meant nothing to the guys like the one breathing down her neck. At the end of the day, all of that meant nothing.

At the end of the day, it was not their credentials, their weapons, but their minds.

And this was no different.

'So Agent Prentiss, you got something to say?'

She gave a smirk, turning her head slowly to meet the gaze of the unsub.

'You're all talk.'

His gaze narrowed.

'Is this how you did it with all your other women?'

She continued as he moved away from her, and began walking slowly once more.

'Approached them. Wanting them to be afraid of you? Wanting them to look at you, the way that you had looked at your mum, the women in your family, for your entire life.'

The man halted between Emily and Alice, standing with his fists clenched.

'You thought school would be different – but no, it turned out all the same. No girl would want to even look at you, did they. They wanted nothing to do with you.'

He was in power. She was not. FUCKING. Allowed to do this.

'Shut up.'

She was continuing. What part of.

'I said. Shut up.'

Did she not understand?

'SHUT UP!'

'You said to talk if I had something to say. And now you have a problem with it?'

He glared at her. Anger pumped blood through his veins, the sound of its pulsing movements pounding in his ears.

'Beg me not to do it.'

Emily's eyes narrowed slightly at his sudden comment. 'What.'

His voice rose into a loud yell. 'I said, beg me not to do it!'

Before she could comprehend the meaning of the words, a hard punch slammed into her stomach, causing her to flinch forwards, wrists stinging against the wire as her weight slumped towards the ground.

Emily forced herself to take deep breaths as her stomach curled in her attempt to ignore the pain.

The man looked down at the female agent, pleased with his work.

'I told you to beg.'

He turned his attention to Alice behind him, whose gaze immediately turned into a glare.

'Get away from me!'

'A tough cookie, aren't you,' he smirked. He kneeled down slightly to grab Alice's chin. Her eyes widened in fear. 'But this is the thing – I know how to deal with touch cookies like you.'

'So that's how you work. Always going for the people who seem weaker than you.' Emily managed to keep her voice strong, forcing back a cough and back onto her feet.

The man looked back, miming pity as if he was dealing with an animal in pain.

'Seem weaker?'

Flicking his hand, causing Alice to fall to her side, the unsub approached Emily once more.

He looked her up and down. 'I think you're forgetting something.'

She cursed herself for forgetting to brace a second punch assaulted her stomach, followed by another to her ribcage.

'You are weak. You have no fucking idea, what I can do to you.'

Keeping her mind off the pain was her specialty. All she had to focus on was the man in front of him, and the anger that she felt rushing through her body.

'Beg.'

She made sure her glare remained steady as the unsub approached her once more. She turned away instinctively as the man grabbed her wrist, forcing the wire tighter around it. Pain proceeded up her arm, slowly burning like a trail of biting ants.

'I said beg!'

Not a sound. She repeated to herself.

Not a sound, don't let him hear anything.

The burning sensation suddenly escalated as a sharp object was forced into her arm just above her elbow.

Emily shut her eyes in an attempt to distance herself from the pain. The burning, gnawing sensation caused by continuous deep stabbing assaulted her senses as she focused all her energy into keeping her silence.

Knowing that it would end soon.

'FUCK!'

A frustrated cry sounded, followed by the loud clang of the knife being thrown across the room.

Why wasn't she begging. They broke after this, they always did.

Emily exhaled heavily as she watched the man pace around the room.

'You just don't get it do you?' He halted in his steps and met her gaze, his heavy breathing matching hers.

'I can do things to you that you can't even imagine.'

'That's what they all say.' Emily threw his threat back in his face, glare steady.

Her gaze made him mad.

He forced himself to breathe.

He was in power, he reminded himself.

Him, not her. She just needed to know who was boss.

And what better than to make a slave observe the works of their master?

He grinned maliciously, pleased when the agent's eyes narrowed.

She had no fucking idea.

She'd be sorry she ever defined him.

Emily watched as the unsub walked towards the desk, rummaged around and returned with a long piece of piano wire in his hand.

He turned his gaze towards Alice, who shuffled away with a defiant glare in an attempt to place as much distance between them.

Useless efforts.

The man pulled Alice towards him, prompting from the woman an angry scream.

He sat her down in front of his feet, between him and Emily, tightening the ropes around the woman's body.

'Shut up.' He ordered, holding a fist out in front of her face. Alice's screams faded into silence as her eyes caught sight of the thin wire held before her.

Emily's eyes widened as Alice began to whimper upon feeling the wire touch her neck.

The man locked gazes with Emily.

'I'll make you beg. You just watch.'

.

.

.

She could see the phone. The long road stretched across the plains, dry desert ground on both sides.

Her body ached and it was all she wanted to do to sit down. She forced herself to walk the few steps that allowed her to reach out for the phone.

Upon reaching feeling plastic surface meet the palm of her hands, her legs collapsed under her, and she let out a sob.

Breathing heavily, Simone reached up feebly, and just managed to punch in the desired numbers.

Tears began to stream down her face as she heard the first sane voice that resembled the norm she used to be a part of for the first time in seven years.

.

.

.

'Ma'am, could you please tell us where you are?'

The policeman's panicked voice prompted the agents to leave the room and rush to the phone's side.

'Who is it?' Detective Thompson demanded his subordinate, who handed the phone to him as if it was a piece of hot iron without another word.

'Detective Thompson speaking, what's your inquiry?'

The team watched as his mask faltered, turning a shocked gaze towards them.

'It's Simone Dallas.'

'What?' A heavy frown settled on David's face.

'Find out where she is,' Aaron commanded.

'Miss Dallas, do you know where you are?'

Detective Thompson pressed a button to change the option to loud speaker, causing the woman's panicked shrieks that were choked up with tears to resonate throughout the station.

'Please…I – I don't know where I am. He just dropped me off here I – I don't know where –'

'Ma'am, could you describe to us what you see?' Aaron asked firmly.

'I…I see mountains…'

'Alright, you're doing great, what else?'

'I – there's a long road, it just keeps on stretching until I can't see it…There's telephone poles, and a hut over there – '

Detective Thompson's eyes suddenly widened, and he promptly inquired into the phone. 'Is it a hut Miss Dallas? Or a petrol station?'

'I…I don't know, it's so far away, please…I – I don't want to be here.'

'Miss Dallas, we'll be on our way very soon, but to do that I need you to tell me what it is you see in the distance – is it a petrol station?' Detective Thompson's voice had slowed, pronouncing each word firmly in an effort to reach the woman.

'I…it's a petrol station. A small one. Please…'

'I know where she is – it's not far, it'll take five minutes to reach her,' Detective Thompson said.

Aaron nodded, then turned to JJ. 'Stay on the phone with her.'

'Got it.'

As Aaron and Detective Thompson headed out the station, they could hear JJ's voice, firm but gentle, resonating through the office,

'Ma'am, my name is JJ. Detective Thompson's on his way now, and will be there in five minutes. And until they arrive I'm going to stay on the phone with you, do you understand? You're going to be fine…'

.

.

.

In his fifty years on the job, David Rossi had seen what ordeals such as the one Simone Dallas went through could do to people.

They way it made them hide within themselves. Withdraw into their minds with any verbal or physical touch, in the same instinctive manner as a snail or turtle would when threatened by some external force.

Fall into silence.

Sometimes forever.

Dave watched as the medics completed the check up on the woman, giving their unit chief a heads up that half an hour was the most they were going to receive in order to interview her, before she was escorted to the hospital for medical assistance.

He turned his gaze to the ground, a bitter half smile present on his lips that revealed his doubt towards the medic's choice of words.

Most rape victims never recovered a part of themselves, with the wounds that had healed reopening time and time again even with the strongest of people. A single touch or word was all that was required for them to relieve a moment of what they had endured.

No amount of medical assistance was going to heal what had happened to their first returned survivor of this case.

.

.

.

The woman's eyes were hollow, body visibly emancipated. Aaron's vision did not move from her hands, spindly and curled inwards like the limbs of a dead spider. It was not their appearance that frightened him the most, but the way they never stopped trembling as she repeated back to them every single second of the treatment she had undertaken during the past seven years.

Soon, the woman sitting across from them could be Emily Prentiss.

If they even found her in time.

'We're so sorry for you went through,' he heard JJ say gently. 'Do you think you could tell us what happened?'

Simone nodded her head slowly.

JJ opened the case file that lay between them, and set out the photos of the victims in front of her.

'Miss Dallas?'

She faced the blonde with haunted eyes.

'Did you happen to see any of these – '

JJ's sentence was cut off as the woman let out a small half scream, shying away from the photos but unable to take her eyes off them.

'He made me watch.'

Her voice was high pitched, eyes terrified and evidently reliving the moments once more.

'What did he make you watch Miss Dallas?' JJ asked gently, masking away her emotions as the victim became unbearably human before their eyes.

For the next twenty minutes, Simone Dallas pointed at all the victims but Marie and Alice, informing the agents of the seven years that flashed before her eyes.

'He made me watch…he – it never ended. Never…'

Aaron and JJ watched as she choked her words out, tears once again beginning to roll down her cheeks.

There was a knock on the door as a medic poked his head into the room.

'I'm afraid time's up.'

While Aaron complied reluctantly, JJ remained sitting down, reaching into the folder for its latest addition. Knowing that Simone had not come into contact with the last two abducted women, she knew the chances of her having seen their latest victim was slim. However she also knew that they as a team needed this.

'Before we leave Miss Dallas, would you be able to identify this woman for me?'

Aaron watched as JJ placed a photo of their missing female agent on the table.

'Did you see her around yesterday or even today?'

'Agents.'

Aaron held up a hand in the medic's direction and gave a nod to show that they understood.

Simone shook her head. 'I've never seen her before.'

.

.

.

'You okay?'

JJ looked up to meet Spencer's nervous gaze and nodded.

'It's just.' She tried again. 'It's just that it's always so different when the evidence belongs to someone you know.'

Spencer swallowed, giving a tentative nod. 'We'll find her though. You know that right?'

JJ gave a soft smile. 'No statistics?'

He gave a slight shake of his head. 'Well personal experience has taught me that statistics probably isn't a good idea in these circumstances.'

'How is she?' Dave asked, approaching them from where he had been standing with Detective Thompson outside the interrogation room.

'How would you be.' Aaron said, finishing the call on his cell phone.

'How's Derek doing?'

Aaron gave a heavy shrug, frown deeply etched into his forehead. 'Not so good – he's fighting the doctors right now despite the anesthesia.'

'That is bad,' Spencer said, expression genuinely serious.

Detective Thompson looked back to catch sight of the medic who had interrupted their interview outside the interrogation room, filling a cup with water at one of the tanks.

'I thought you said the victim shouldn't be left alone?'

.

.

.

She felt the cool handle of the glock he had placed in her dress pocket.

She took it out, feeling the smooth plastic.

It's that easy. He had said.

She gave a nod, a hint of a smile present on her lips.

When the barrel of the gun reached her mouth, she placed her finger on the trigger.

And pulled.

The gun sounded.

It was instinct that caused her body to move, as she lept in front of the five year old girl to shield her from the blow.

She felt the force of the bullet as it slammed into her back, her arms wrapping protectively around the fragile figure as she fell to the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

H-he set them on the floor, each time. Sometimes it'd be me in their place kneeling as he s-stabbed me with the knife again and again…I- I wanted it to stop, but it never did. It'd go on for what seemed like hours…each time he made me watch, he'd sometimes take me to a room with broken mirrors and make me watch what he did…'

'He made me choose, he tells me, 'If you don't choose I'll kill both of them'…each time they looked at me like they wanted to die…'

'I-I never opened the door. It made a…a noise every time… you try to make the least amount of noise when you're there since you don't want him to remember you. It's all you want. I tried once… You don't scream…no, no, no you never ever scream when he's doing it to the others…if you scream he'll come for you next…'

'He always wanted us to scream…made us beg, he was in charge…no matter how many times we told him he'd still get angry…'

'There was one woman…She was pregnant. Lisa I think…the-the new ones never stayed for that long…'

'I wished they hadn't told me their names…I-I can't forget the look they had in their eyes each time it happened…they were always looking at me when it happened…they always asked me why-why, why, why!'

'I can't forget their faces…I-I-he made me watch – Lisa…her baby…8 months…red-th-the blood….oh god…oh god he made me watch as he…he told me to enjoy but I couldn't-I couldn't do anything!'

'Please…pl-please, no, please don't hurt me again-I-I'll do anything!'

There was a wet thud as the plastic cup dropped from the medic's hands upon the sound of the glock being fired.

The first thing they saw as they turned towards the interrogation room was the thick crimson liquid spewing from the back of Simone's head that bloomed into a fiery red sea urchin upon hitting the white wall.

Her eyes, now blank like the faded pupils of a dead fish, were facing the door as it opened to greet the agents, the corners her lips turned up in a hint of a smile.

'What happened,' Hotch demanded, sharply turning on the medic who stood behind him with a catatonic expression frozen across his face.

'She...she said she wanted a drink,' came the man's feeble answer, eyes wide open and hands trembling at the guilt of the possibility of having indirectly brought about her death. 'I didn't…I didn't know she had a gun…none of us did…'

'I thought I told you to check her over!' Detective Thompson barked across the station, expressing his frustration towards his carelessness rather than attempting to pinpoint an individual to blame.

'S-sir?' One of the police officers addressed Detective Thompson, the slight stutter compromising his efforts to hide his intimidation.

'What?' Detective Thompson barked, sharply turning towards the officer, his glare making him wish he hadn't spoken at all.

The officer flinched slightly, looking almost flustered, then managed to say, 'You asked me to contact Mr Dallas…he's just arrived.'

A commotion drew their attention to the door, where a large man was in struggle with three police officers attempting to calm him down.

'Let me go! It's my daughter!'

Aaron exchanged immediate, wary glances with the team, rushing to the door.

'Don't let him see this,' he warned Detective Thompson, who gave a nod, forehead creasing in a heavy frown as he lifted a hand to slide it tiredly down his face.

'Simone!' A father's desperate cry resonated through the station.

'Mr. Dallas, please calm down!' Voices that attempted to calm him along with the anticipated daughter that failed to come forward fueled the man's desperate thrashing, large arms belonging to the ranger flailing away protective advances of the police officers in his instinctive paternal attempt to reach his daughter.

'Simone?' He tried once more, voice faltering as with another step, the interrogation room came to view.

'Oh god…'

His eyes widened, an animalistic cry gurgling from his throat as he put two and two together, the glimpse of the woman lying face sideways on the desk within the room, a dark red flower splattered against the wall behind her only confirming his initial fears. He lowered his head in a dazed manner, following the line of sight as two officers within the room pulled the shutters down to obscure the scene within it.

'No…'

'Mr Dallas – '

'N-NO!'

The man's next sounds sent a chill up Aaron and JJ's spine, a cry that they were instinctively able to relate to.

The sound of a parent outliving their child.

'Seven years… seven years…you told me she was back…why?'

The man's knees gave way, his strong arms now like those of an infant clinging to a parent's for comfort as he hung to the sleeves of Aaron's suit, eyes haunted and unmoving from the door of the interrogation room.

Minutes later that same door opened once more, allowing out the woman's figure shrouded beneath a white sheet, to be put away from the world, once again, forever.

Dave sighed heavily. Seven years. One survivor had returned only to drag herself back to hell again.

It was the irony he felt once more, how clearing the bodies was as simple as placing them on a carrier and a white sheet over their faces, whereas their pursuit of finding them before that state was and forever would be infinite.

.

.

.

'Seven years,' Mr Dallas's head held heavy in his hands as he continued to look down at the surface of the desk. The cup that had been put beside him remained untouched.

'Mr Dallas-'

'Was I too late?' He cut JJ's sentence off mid way, slamming his hands down onto the desk, gaze pleading as he looked up at the blonde agent. 'How was she when she arrived? Was she alright?...'

The man covered his face with his hands once more, cursed and muttered, 'No of course not, what a stupid question that is, she wouldn't have been okay, if she had been' – Mr Dallas once again slammed his fists down onto the desk, his eyes still focused on its surface – 'she wouldn't have bloody killed herself!'

'Is there anyone you'd like us to call?' came JJ's delicate inquiry.

Spencer watched from across the room where the rest of the team members had settled down around a round desk, then turned back to them as his name was softly called.

'…He tortured them to a point where there was no need for him to even lock their doors to ensure their stay. This is about ultimate control,' Aaron said.

'Sick bastard.' Came Detective Thompson's bitter remark.

The woman's death rang clear as day in his mind. Their first witness since the beginning of this case.

Here was hoping that her death wasn't in vain.

'They were essentially like obedient dogs except trained purely by punishment with no rewards,' Spencer added.

Dave was quick in his response, 'no, his absence would be the rewards.'

'He controls every aspect of their lives, choosing when they die, when they eat. It looks as if he continued to keep their hopes up with no actual intention of letting them go,' Spencer continued.

'So how do we find him,' Aaron said, dropping his gaze down to the pages on the desk.

'Well it looks as if the radio's his primary source of connection with the press – Simone was under the impression that he never turned it off,' Detective Thompson ventured.

'The guy's a narcissist – undermining his abductions and works might anger him and cause him to become careless,' Dave added.

'But he also has nothing to lose. He has no reason to give away his position since he's already achieved his objectives,' Aaron said.

'Or it might compel him to establish contact with us,' JJ suggested. 'He has an FBI agent in his hands, there's a likely chance that he may attempt to through Emily.'

'And either way if he's made to think that we're onto another guy completely it'll lessen the chances of him covering his tracks and running,' David said. 'The fact that he's already got the victims he needs means he won't make another abduction. It eliminates the need to inform the public - there's no present danger to anyone but those that he's keeping captive.'

'So the conference?' JJ inquired once more.

That was all their unit chief needed. He gave her a nod. 'Make sure he's given a description of a man that he can't relate to. Suggest impotency despite the evidence of sexual assault.'

JJ was already on her way, with Detective Thompson following behind, as she replied back, 'Got it.'

'Dave,' Aaron called the older agent softly. 'I want you to visit Morgan. Inform him of what's happening.'

Dave gave a nod to indicate that he had understood. He managed a cynical smile. 'What if he wants in?'

'Don't let him.'

'You're the boss.'

.

.

.

A quick flash of his credentials was all that was needed to obtain a one way ticket to Derek's ward, no questions asked. His shoes made a soft clattering sound to match those made by the nurse's white pumps on the shiny polished floor.

With the same sterlised, white environment returned the same dreamlike feeling; the only thing that seemed to change with hospitals was the victims he visited.

'He's been causing us a bit of trouble, I'm afraid,' said the nurse cautiously, her dark hair that had been pulled up in a bun to sit loosely underneath her cap bopping with each step. 'Rest is of primary importance at this stage and crucial to recovery but it's been difficult gaining his cooperation.'

Dave gave a knowing chuckle, 'He does that.'

'I've told you, I'm fine. I can't be here right now!'

The struggle was loud and evident even as they were a few metres away from the door.

'Agent Morgan, please calm down. You need your rest,' attempted the nurse as she entered the room.

Dave opted for standing by the doorway, watching in amusement as the large man resisted the nurses' advances in replacing his sheets and offering a new hospital garb.

'You don't look like someone who got out of surgery five hours ago,' Dave remarked at last, finally taking pity on the darker agent.

He gave the nurses a smile, as they paused, unsure of what to do. 'I'll take it from here.'

'Struggling only encourages them, you know,' Dave said, once the nurses had left the room.

'Hm,' Derek managed a half smile that did not meet his eyes.

Dave beat him to the question. 'We haven't found him yet.'

'And Emily?'

Dave raised his eyebrows. As expected. 'You think this is your fault.'

Upon the man's silence, Dave decided to continue. 'Morgan, there was no way of you knowing. Or doing anything for that matter. It could have been any of us in your shoes.'

'I –' Derek hesitated momentarily, fists clenching the sheets on his knees and forcing the bitterness from his voice before continuing, 'I know that Rossi.'

'So why do you sit there allowing yourself to think that things could have turned out differently.'

Derek's reached up and swept his hand over his forehead disconcertedly. 'That's why Rossi – We could have changed it. I should have known!' Derek then turned to the older agent, gaze searching for some sort of an answer in the man's stance and expression, one that would justify the guilt that he felt, a sign that would show that he was the one to blame.

A hint that told him he was obliged to carry the weight of his conscience that currently rested on his shoulders.

He found none.

'So what, we sit here and sulk?' Dave's reply was frank, his expression unmoved and blunt. 'You're only human, Morgan. Humans make mistakes. Some of which –' Dave fixed Derek an incriminating gaze – 'They're unknowingly forced into. The difference is that some mistakes are harder to correct and compensate for. That doesn't mean we kneel down and hope that it gets better on its own.'

'I know,' Derek replied softly, turning his gaze towards the window beside him. The sky was clear. Just as it had been upon their arrival in Barlow.

'I know that. Which is why I need to go with you, get out of this place and catch this son of a bitch.'

Another few minutes passed as Morgan's gaze fixed on the older agent in an attempt to engage in a silent agreement.

This time, he found what he was looking for.

'Your ready-bag's in the car,' said Dave, the half smile on his lips almost mischievous. Motioning to a nurse who just happened to be passing by the door, Dave added, 'Didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you?'

Then, he turned on his heel and departed first, the darker agent immediately pushing the covers aside with shrewd determination.

.

.

.

'If you have mistakes, even serious ones, there is always another chance for you. What we call failure is not the falling down but the staying down.'

Mary Pickford

.

.

.

It was over.

Alice could feel it as her ears rang with the sound of her own gasps, the saliva that had filled her mouth now beginning to dribble down her chin.

What an unattractive way to die.

She resisted the urge to giggle at the superficial thoughts that came in waves. The agent standing in front of her was pretty. Not as pretty as her though. No one could be as pretty as her.

Alice had thought it'd be different – that she would be different in her final moments, the dying experience that she had only ever imagined before. Wasn't scenes from her life meant to be flashing before her eyes?

A sharp pain at her neck caused her to flinch and instinctively jerk away from the wire. She felt a warm liquid trail down from her neck to her shoulders. She guessed it was blood.

Blood.

Red was pretty.

She liked pretty things.

The agent still wasn't saying anything. Was it so hard. Why couldn't she just swallow her pride and give the man what he wanted. It wasn't even a very big deal.

For fuck's sake she was dying here.

'Are you just gonna let her die like this, Agent?'

Yeah, are you?

'Look at her, can you hear her gasping?' Alice could hear the glee almost dripping from the man's voice.

He was enjoying this, the fucker.

'Sweet sounds…come on, Agent.' She could hear the man challenging once more. 'I thought this was your job, saving women.'

She watched as the wire cut around Alice's neck, life fading from her eyes. In a few minutes they would resemble the eyes of the victims she looked into at the beginning of every case. The victims she had always been too late for.

But here was one dying in front of her eyes.

One that could still be saved.

'Please.'

His movements came to a sudden halt as he lifted his head from Alice's face to stare into Emily's eyes. 'What did you say?'

She swallowed, with it repressing the anger that welled up inside her. She knew she had to keep calm.

The victims were her priority.

The victims, not herself.

'I said.' She inhaled deeply, relaxing the fists she had clenched in rage. 'Please.'

The victims before herself.

She watched as a sinister grin crawled across his lips like a caterpillar struggling to escape from a web.

'Again.'

No anger, just the victims.

'Please.'

The man's grin widened and he removed the wire from Alice's neck in a quick, swiping motion, slashing a thin but definite gash in the woman's neck.

The woman coughed, body jerking with each hoarse sound. The blood dripped from her neck. The trail was steady but thin, informing Emily that the string had missed the victim's vital vein.

She allowed herself to exhale deeply, then focused all her attention on the man, who had stood up and continued to gaze at the deep cuts he had previously inflicted on her arm.

She knew what was coming.

Photos of the victims' wounds she had seen at the beginning of the case flashed through her mind. They seemed almost surreal, like a dream. Fresh knife wounds over those that had just healed or had just been healing. Their bodies the victims of continuous, unending physical torture.

Now it was her turn.

The pain in her arm amplified as the man approached, the anticipation of the next strike shattering her attempts to focus elsewhere. It was the waiting, she knew, that was the most painful. Once the blow came however, repeatedly at that, it became easier.

The next strike traveled further up her arm, where the skin had yet to be broken. She could feel the cold steel blade against her scalding skin, the wound throbbing as the sharp object remained lodged within it.

And still she did not make a sound.

Using pain to her advantage was her specialty. With each blow, and each shout that revealed the man's increasing frustration towards her silence, she visualized the faces of each victim.

Forcing herself to connect.

Forcing herself to remain angry as anger meant there was less room for pain.

For how long had the other women endured this pain. If they had the strength to survive it, so could she.

She pushed back the nagging voice in her mind that reminded her of their deaths.

She was not yet a victim.

And never would be.

'I said BEG!'

Her focus, which had been solely on her arm where she had been anticipating the next strike, was sent spiraling as pain swamped her right rip cage. She cursed mentally as she heard the gasp that tumbled from her lips, and upon making eye contact with the unsub, knew he had too.

The triumphant grin on his lips and the burning pain in her side that caused her to curl her torso slightly in an instinctive attempt to protect the wound, sent her head throbbing with regret, the sign of a worse ordeal to come.

The victims, she repeated once more, not herself.

Before the man could attempt another slow, burning strike to her side, a loud shriek caught their attention. Before the man could turn, Alice slammed into the his body with great force, knocking both the unsub and herself off their feet.

Despite her gallant efforts, her bound figure and previously received wounds allowed the unsub to gain his footing first.

Emily breathed deeply in an attempt to regain her stance as the man placed a strong kick towards the Alice's head, who deftly dodged it and fixed the man an angry glare.

His hesitation revealed that he seemed to be taken aback. Retaliating females was something he was unfamiliar with. Not since the new position of power he had imposed upon himself and his abducted victims, in any case.

He still had a trick up his sleeve that served as the greatest threat to them however. He knew this got them all begging for their lives.

Due to their lack of reactions however, he was unable to perform the full deed, but a good scare would force it out of them and do the job.

He gave a confident smirk and tossed his knife aside, deliberately walking up towards Alice and standing above her frozen form.

She gave a defiant jerk of her head, her bruised black right eye not preventing her from perfectly expressing anger through her glare.

'You think you're tough?' He watched, victorious, as the woman's eyes widened at his next actions. He reached a hand down to his pants, attempting to unzip it just enough to scare her into…

'Alice, not a sound. He can't get it up unless you do.'

The agent's firm voice forced its way through his fantasy, robbing him of his power. His hands stilled in their slow, deliberate movements.

He looked down into Alice's eyes. Strength had returned to them once more, the fear, vanished.

He felt his shoulders tremble as anger rushed through his veins.

She knew.

SHE KNEW.

NO ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW.

Emily stared straight into the unsub's eyes as the knife came at her. A large animalistic scream accompanied the blade's pending strike.

She remained glaring as the knife approached her face, heading towards her eyes…

Slam.

Staring straight into his eyes was the agent's. Unfazed. If she had shown any signs of fear, they had withdrawn the moment he had planted the knife into the wood beside her head.

He could smell her scent. His grip tightened around the knife as he breathed heavily, the impulsive action fueled by anger with no expected rewards temporarily robbed him of his energy.

The man released the hilt of the knife, stepping slowly away from the brunette before him. He turned away, failing to notice the deep breath of air she had exhaled.

He could see the ground beneath his shoes. His shoes were brown.

Two shoes.

Two feet.

A pair.

A PAIR.

When the unsub's head snapped up, Emily braced herself for what was to come.

It wasn't over yet.

A maniacal laughter exploded from the man, sending an icy chill crawling up the two womens' spines.

Emily could see fear creep back into Alice's eyes. The woman looked at her, expression perplexed and terrified.

The man suddenly swerved around, fastening his glare on Agent Prentiss.

'See if you can save this.'

Those were his final words before he forwarded out of the shed, slamming the door behind him.

.

.

.

Her fingers continued to tremble as she ran them over her keys with proficient skill. The shock she had received upon hearing about what had happened had still not worn off. It clung to her skin, like an invisible body suit of glad wrap that adhered tightly around her body.

He was ok, she repeated to herself. He's okay and that's all that matters.

Despite knowing the risks her companions took with each case, she remained susceptible to the fear, uncertainty and trembling of her fingertips that arrived upon receiving the bad news.

You'd think she'd be able to handle it better by now.

'Thirty seconds till full coverage.'

'Derek, drive to the opening and get the hell out.'

She hated the desperation in her voice.

'Something I really want you to know Garcia.'

How could he remain so damn calm at a time like this?

'Save it, just get out!'

'Ten.'

'Morgan.'

'Just listen to me.'

'Nine.'

'Morgan please.' Penelope heard the number as Lisa continued to count down.

'You know what you are Garcia?'

'We just lost track of him…'

And then, complete silence on the other line.

'Morgan!'

No.

She stopped herself, pushing back the possibilities she had imagined at the time. He was safe. He had been safe that time, and he had pulled through yet again.

That was all that mattered. And now, she thought as she stared at the screen, it was time to work her magic.

To play catch that lead.

.

.

.

'Garcia, what have you got for us?' Aaron asked, switching the phone to loud speaker to allow her to deliver her findings.

'Okay, after our last delightful little meeting, I decided to search up a lead myself. This guy had dressed his victims in clothes after he had killed them – well, to get those clothes he would have needed women to get them from, right?'

'Go on,' Aaron encouraged, exchanging glances with Spencer.

'So I did some digging and pulled up some files containing the murders of prostitutes within Barlow and its nearby areas, and found that ten years ago, there were several unsolved murders, the bodies dumped in the same area within a twenty mile radius. Plus the number of bodies matches the number of victims he's clothed so far.'

'He hadn't clothed the latest two victims,' Spencer confirmed.

'That must mean he still has…'

'He killed the latest two victims quickly, didn't take his time with them. We concluded at the time it was because he had found new victims,' Spencer said.

There was a slight pause before Garcia uttered, 'So he's saving the remaining articles of clothing for-'

Aaron interrupted Garcia's trail of thought before she could go further, giving Spencer a wary frown. 'Whereabouts?'

'That's another thing – it's in the further rural areas of Barlow, near where they used to have farms specialized in breeding Wynadotte chickens.'

'Used to?' Spencer inquired, frowning slightly.

'Used to as in their production was stopped around the same time the bodies of the prostitutes were found.'

'So that's the stressor,' Aaron said.

'Garcia, were you able to find any connections between the unsub's first four victims?' Spencer asked, leaning towards the phone.

'Simone confirmed that they didn't have any personal connections – none of these women knew each other,' Aaron said.

'Well that's where this comes in. It looks as if these chicken farms also used to personally deliver the chicken to the village markets, and their services included personal, door-to-door deliveries. But asides from the mass orders they were all cash jobs.'

'It's why we couldn't find a connection between these victims,' Spencer said. 'There's no electronic record that suggests how the unsub may have met them.'

'There's a possibility that the written records might remain at the farms,' Aaron stated. 'Garcia, find the list of employees who worked at the farm until it went COB.'

'Pulling it up now…'

'If he lived out in the rural areas of Barlow it's likely that he learnt the abilities similar to the training the rangers receive without going through the actual process,' Spencer commented.

'The profile states that due to his fixation with powerful career women he's likely to be on the lower half of the food chain – he most probably did the deliveries himself,' Aaron added. 'Would explain how he has efficient knowledge in the area, the deliveries might have taken him to the other sides of the town.'

At that moment, the station doors opened, admitting in the expected older agent and another, following.

Aaron's frown deepened despite facing the outcome he had expected.

'Hotch, before you say anything-'

'You're not setting a foot on the field.'

Derek gave a sheepish grin at the unit chief's order. 'You're the boss.' After Aaron had turned away, Spencer's turned towards him a perplexed, slightly skeptical gaze, to which Derek responded with a wink, and held up his right hand to reveal that he had two of his fingers crossed. He chuckled as Spencer looked away raising his eyebrows in an amused manner.

'Okay, I have the list.'

'Hey baby girl,' Derek called out, followed by an immediate silence on the other line.

'Morgan?'

'I'm back, baby,' Derek said, a bright grin adorning his face.

'…You almost left without saying good bye this time.'

He gave a good natured chuckle, leaning closer to the phone. 'I know, forgive me.'

'Not until you come back. Then you're in for a ride of your life.'

'Garcia,' Aaron interrupted, hiding a smile at the small interaction that, for a moment, reminded them the ironic nature of the perils that their job entailed; how despite the risks, it was the danger they worked within that amplified the happier moments such as this.

'Oh right. Well, looks like you'll have to wait a bit longer, my sweet. Garcia at your service sir.'

'Garcia narrow the search down to those with a criminal record.'

'Ten potential suspects,' Garcia said after a few seconds of rapid typing.

'Now which one of them has had a family history of mental disorder or come from a disturbed family background, particularly focus on the mother, there will be something that associates her to the concept of power and control.'

The team waited tensely, as the station doors opened once more to admit JJ and Detective Thompson.

'The press ate it up,' the detective said. 'What have we got?'

'We think the unsub may be using the abandoned Wynadotte farms in the rural area as his residence,' Spencer said.

After hearing the full location, Detective Thompson looked concerned. 'The place is about an hour's drive from the station at the least.'

'Well we'll have to be even quicker than,' Derek said, and urged into the phone, 'Garcia.'

'Got him. Julian Newman. He used to live within that rural area near the farm, he pretty much took over his father's job after he quit upon having his request for advancement rejected both due to his unstable mental condition and poor work ethics…his mother was a career politician, and looks as if she hardly spent time at home after her maternity leave ended.'

'Not much recognition or attention from the primary female figure,' Dave commented. 'He wants control over his female victims – he made them all beg, explains his fixation on gaining attention.'

'The only male role model he had was overshadowed by his mum's successes.,' Detective Thompson evaluated.

'Having taken orders all his life it's understandable he would have chosen the farm as the place he'd impose control over his victims – he's the king of the castle now,' Spencer said.

'And being an abandoned farm in a rural area with not many visitors, the perfect place to execute his fantasies,' Derek concluded. 'You, my angel, are that first star in the sky you wish upon and makes any god damn thing possible.'

'Oh, sugar. Did I tell you you're forgiven?'

As their call came to an end she made a final request. 'Bring her back home safe.'

'We will, Garcia. You can count on it.'

A few minutes later, two black SVUs followed my an ambulance and several police cars left the station, towards what could be their final destination.


	8. Chapter 8

The vehicles rumbled along the rough dry dirt path, one that had stopped being a concrete road a long time ago. The telephone poles began to become remote, each one they passed disappearing into the distance as they increased their speed.

Derek Morgan knew it wasn't a good idea to push Hotch any further than he already had. Having defied a direct order, he had refused to stay back at the station, and despite having reluctantly given word to stay out of the field, harboured the full intention of personally charging in, guns blazing.

He had to keep moving. Otherwise the guilt and the fear he had kept contained all this time would spin out of control. He glanced outside the window, hands fiddling restlessly. It was why he had offered to drive – an injury hardly deterred him from stepping on it.

'How long?' Aaron asked the Detective, who had been alternating his focus from the road before them to the vehicles reflected in the rearview mirror.

'Fifteen minutes.' He gave a pause, then finally asked, 'Do you think we'll make it on time?'

'One advantage we have is that he doesn't know that we're coming,' Aaron said. 'We'll have to approach the premises with caution, make the least amount of noise possible – at least before we find the victims. If he's affected by the press conference and makes a mistake, we can make it work in our favour.'

The detective gave a firm nod, then turned his gaze out the window once more.

Looked as if Aaron had dodged a bullet. He hoped that his assumptions rang true and that, they weren't too late.

Before them stood what looked to be a junkyard, locked in by the surrounding metal wire gates. Detective Thompson emerged from the car, inspected the flimsy lock, then tore the loose chains from the gate. He then motioned to the vehicles behind him, swinging open the gates gently enough so that they would not make a noise.

The policemen emerged from their cars, as did the BAU team, entering the premises with quick, light steps. Loose tyres littered the ground, amongst pieces of netting, wire and what looked to be large cans of diesel oil.

Four large sheds could just be seen in the near distance behind the giant piles of rubbish and materials. Beyond them a tiny hut-like house was visible, the dirty white that had been painted on its brick walls peeling off to retain a flaky appearance.

After checking that the ambulance and the medics were on stand by, ready to come running when called, Aaron motioned to each of his team members, prompting David Rossi, Detective Thompson and Spencer, followed by three policemen each, to immediately rush towards each one of the sheds.

After hooking the wire to his ear, Aaron turned to Derek, his gaze fixed into that which had assisted in many of his interrogations.

Derek knew he couldn't make it easy for him. Complying straight away would be transparent, and result in him getting locked in the car at the very extreme.

'You're to remain here, Morgan,' came the expected command.

'Hotch, you know I'm fine. You need me out there,' Derek attempted, stepping up closer to the unit chief.

'We don't have any more time to waste,' Aaron replied angrily. 'And no, I don't. What I do know is, that right now you feel compelled to be in constant action to suppress the guilt. And I can tell you that being on the field isn't going to solve it.'

'Hotch –'

'I mean it. Don't push it.'

Aaron fixed another stern gaze on the agent once more, then, ignoring the man's livid expression, headed off to the fourth shed with the policemen, not even sparing another glance.

That was his cue.

.

.

.

The insides of the shed were rusty, the corrugated iron now the only thing left standing. The shed was larger than the other three shed combined, and they soon knew the reason why.

Feathers clung to the many wire mesh cages that had been stacked within the shed, some, prisons made of thick panels of wood.

'This is where he kept the victims,' Spencer called out to Dave, having returned from inspecting the shed he had been sent to. 'There's evidence of blood on its walls. Signs of struggle.'

'Check all of them,' instructed Dave loudly so the policemen inside the shed could here.

'Rossi, I got something.'

Dave walked in quick steps towards where Reid stood, inspecting three garments that hung from metal hooks on the wall. Three skimpy tops, each of different colours, hung above three pairs of black leather skirts had been laid out neatly on a desk. Displayed also were pairs of high heeled shoes with giant platforms, alongside shiny fake croc skin bags.

'He was saving them,' Spencer said, voice anxious as they scrutinized the garments. Their hearts hung heavy; this unsub wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Detective Thompson entered at that moment, reporting his finding of the farm's documents that had been kept within the shed that he had been assigned to. 'All the victims he had taken had requested a door-to-door delivery at some point – the first four victims happen to be the houses they used to frequent the most.'

'Found him.' Reported a firm voice within their wires.

'You found him?'

'Shed four, the one nearest to the large pick up. Be careful of your footing, there's a lot lying around.'

'Let's go,' Dave said, Spencer and Detective Thompson following his steps towards the door.

.

.

.

The voices inside indicated to Aaron that their targets were inside. From the tone of his voice he sounded pissed.

The unsub in a fit of rage. A shotgun was near his hand. Infiltration was going to be risky, but it looked as if the man was yet to be made aware of their presence.

'Shed four,' Aaron whispered into the wire. He readied his glock, placing it in a stable position between himself and the door.

'We're entering –'

A large figure firmly planted himself before him. Aaron however, did not move in inch from his position, and instead glared at Derek Morgan's imposing presence.

'Morgan, what are you doing.' Came Hotch's sharp order, phrased in the form of a question.

'My job,' he responded steadily, raising his gun towards the door.

'I told you to stay off the field. Stand back, right now.'

Derek deliberately did not meet Aaron's gaze, and remained focused on the door before him. Aaron could feel the nervous, perplexed gazes of the policemen on his back. They had been trained to follow orders, a trait that never worked in favour in the presence of two alpha males going head to head for control.

'Fingers crossed nullifies the agreement.'

'Morgan, I told –'

The sliding door was kicked down, splinters flying in with the man's entrance, forcing the men behind to instinctively repeat his actions.

'Freeze, FBI!'

Derek's eyes widened as the man rose, revealing the bloody female figure beneath him, his hand immediately reaching towards the shotgun at his side.

Only a few seconds later, four gun shots pierced the Texan sky, signaling what seemed to be the end of it all.

.

.

.

She sat, feeling extremely uncomfortable despite its familiar environment. The recording device before her on the desk. The scrutinizing gazes of the two figures sitting before her.

The deep voice, telling her to state her name. After which she would then state what she had seen within the past 36 hours.

'Supervisory special agent Emily Prentiss.'

Her voice sounded far away. She forced herself to focus despite the fatigue that ate away at her body from all sides.

'You're required to give a complete recount of your experience, if possible.'

Emily gave a nod, refraining from much movement. She tightly gripped her left hand with her right as she felt it threatening to tremble at the anticipation of recalling the past.

She was not a victim. The victims were those she fought for, the reason she had aspired to catch these guys and entered the law enforcement.

She was the fighter, the one who saved the victims. She would never be one herself.

Emily looked down at the recording device, and began.

The door slide open with great force, startling Alice who lay in front of her, bound. Emily watched as the man dragged Marie in, turning an ignorant ear to her pleads and cries.

The unsub threw an angry glare at Emily. Stopping in his tracks, he shoved Marie to one side as one would with a used or broken toy, then approached her step by step. He frowned as her glare remained strong, body language unyielding despite her wounds.

'Looks as if your stupid FBI friends think they can spread….rumours about me, and get away with it.'

She could sense a slight tremble beneath his voice. It made her stand up straighter, knowing that if anything was due to happen, it would be her chance.

The man inhaled deeply, unclenching his fists forcefully as he spoke once more.

'But they know nothing about me.'

'They knew about you, didn't they,' she dared. 'How you can't get it up unless they scream.'

Her insult prompted him to swerve towards her, planting both fists on each sides of her and closing the distance between them.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, as if simply shrugging off a derogatory comment.

'The truth hurts.'

She continued the eye contact, refusing to be the first to break it as he glared with murderous intent.

She made him mad. His fists clenched once more, and he ground it forcefully against the wooden stake. This bitch just didn't know her place, did she?

Then he remembered the plan. It brought a confident smirk to his face. He stepped closer, staring into the agent's eyes mockingly.

Come on, his eyes were challenged. Tell me to stop.

She refrained from moving or showing any signs of struggle as she felt his body press up against hers. Any would simply encourage his actions, fuel motivation for his current intentions. She did not flinch as she felt his breath against her neck. She made no attempt to rationalize the situation. Talking to the man in order to humanise her or the victims had no place in defeating him.

He breathed in noisily against her neck in an attempt to scare her, mimicking the intimate action between two lovers. When he was unable to elicit any fearful reaction, he slowly slid a hand down her side, tracing the line of her waist and watching her face for signs of weakness.

He found none.

It all got them begging at this stage. Please. Don't do it. I'll do anything. Then came the looks, the tears, the distraught faces he had come to feed on for the past seven years. Yet here stood the victim he had wanted that the most from, not moving or budging an inch.

Stubborn bitch.

He had reached the end of her blouse with the full intention of sliding his hand underneath, when Alice's cry stopped him in his tracks.

'What the hell do you want from us?'

What do we have to do for you to let us go.

Oh yes. That's right. His plan. He turned to Alice, smiling at her for reminding him. He could do this anytime after this.

She wanted to know what they had to do? He felt more than happy to show her. Throwing Alice a mocking, appreciative glance, he approached Marie, who began to struggle and released a hysterical cry when she realized he was coming for her once more.

'NO!' She struggled as his fingers embedded themselves into her already tangled dark brown hair, dragging her towards where Alice lay on her side.

'Please, I'm four months in, please let me go…be merciful!'

He merely smirked at the comment, forcefully pulling the woman to her knees and forcing her to kneel before him.

He then grabbed the Alice by the hair, forced her upright and onto her knees so that the pair knelt there, one sobbing heavily with her head hung like a prisoner, and the other, turning a defiant glare towards the man before them.

Emily turned a sharp, wary gaze towards the unsub, watching as he walked with deliberate, slow steps towards the desk and carefully chose his weapons. With each sound the weapons made, Marie whimpered, the unsub's triumph visibly increasing.

The knife hung at his waist, blade naked and shining against the dark colour of his pants.

Emily tugged at her wrists, despite knowing that her efforts were futile. She ignored the pain that started up once more as the wire aggravated the wounds where the blood had just started to clot. She looked down at her once white blouse, where the blood had began to dry into thick stains of dark brown.

She ignored the sensation of thousands of insects crawling over her body that had lingered since the unsub's first touch. A good shower after she got through this, would do the trick, she convinced herself, and found momentary comfort in those thoughts, albeit short lived.

A shotgun was placed between her and the victims. He approached Emily once more, leaning against the wooden stake and placing his face near hers. He then reached down to his waist to free the knife and brandished it teasingly in front of her eyes.

'Choose.'

He pointed at the two women, and Emily's eyes widened as the unsub's intentions she had not wanted to admit to came true.

'Me,' she said immediately. She deliberately kept her gaze away from the two women, feeling their perplexed gazes on her.

'No,' the unsub said, clearly having noticed the agent's slight agitation in her quick answer. 'I said, choose, from one of them.' He waved the knife in a circle in the air to frame the women kneeling before them.

A desperate moan escaped Marie's lips, as she began to rock back and forth, tears once again streaming down her flushed cheeks. 'No, no no…'

'I'm not doing that,' Emily said, more strongly than she felt.

'Why not?' The unsub asked, bringing the knife against her throat and sliding it down its skin, stopping it just before her collar. 'Oh, I know. Cause it's your job to save them, right?'

The man gave a scoff. 'You think you can save them? Just try.'

He marched up to Marie, grabbed her hair once more, and held the knife to her neck. His gaze was directed straight at Emily.

'Go on, save her.'

The knife got closer.

'If not, I'll kill her.' He gave a grin as the threat elicited a cry from Marie.

'No?' He ran the knife against her neck. 'What if I do…this?'

Marie gave another sob as he gave a quick swipe with the knife, creating a superficial wound and drawing blood.

'Or…' The man faked a contemplative expression, looking down at the woman kneeling below him and rubbing his chin with the knife. 'Or this?' He averted his glance towards Emily as he swiped at Marie's neck once more, lower this time, near her collar bone.

'Or…th – '

'Stop.'

The unsub, who had just been reaching near Marie's bulging stomach with the knife, halted.

'Ready to choose now?'

'Just kill me. Leave them alone.'

Desperation filled Emily like it never had before. Or was it that she had never let it get to her as it currently was.

No, get a grip of yourself. They're relying on you.

The responsibility somehow seemed immense, weighing down on her shoulders.

The number never mattered when it came to victims. Especially when their lives lay in your hands.

Choose. He had said. Oh, if only it were so easy. Aware that the team was on their way, she knew any time bought now was of value.

Whatever she said would not make a difference to the unsub's decision. However, this meant she was at liberty to offer herself to the table, to do whatever she could to keep him off the other two women for as long as possible.

'I choose myself. Let them watch, do what you want, but do it to me first.'

'Nooo…' the unsub said, staring into her eyes. 'You have to choose her…or her…Or –' He placed the knife blade against Marie's cheek.

'No!' She shrieked, her attempts to shy away from the blade prevented by the man's hand that remained tangled in her hair.

'Have you somehow thought of a way to save them?'

Another slash.

More blood. Dripping down her neck in thin streams.

'So can you stop me from doing…'

Another swipe.

'This?'

Another.

Then another.

'Come on, Agent.'

More blood.

Another desperate shriek.

'Choose.'

Another swipe. The knife sliding down the skin as if it were butter, leaving behind a bloody dent.

'Or save them.'

God.

'I thought this was your job,'

Another swipe.

'Or are you just going to let them die?'

'Just fucking kill me!' Marie cried desperately, her desperate scream mirroring that within Emily's mind.

How easy it would be if she was the target; she would hold out until her team came bursting through that damn hated door, only a few feet away from her. She pulled at her wrists again, this time leaning her entire weight against them, disregarding the pain as the wire cut deeper into the bloody wounds.

The unsub watched in amusement, swiping Marie's skin once more, enjoying the agent's efforts.

How fun to watch you finally squirm.

He wanted to see more.

He pretended to yawn noisily, gaze still remaining fixed on the agent. 'You know, this is getting boring.'

Marie gave a loud sob of semi-relief when the unsub finally released her hair, instinctively curling up towards her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably. At Alice's rapid gasp however, Marie's head shot up to stare into the barrel of the shotgun.

A high pitched wail was torn from the woman.

'Come on, Agent,' the man said, deliberately lowering the gun – upon which Marie released another heavy sigh of relief until she noticed the tip was now aimed at her stomach – 'Play along, choose…who dies. Or pop! – ' He motioned to Marie's stomach. 'All three of 'em go.'

Emily heard the sounds of the two womens' heavy breathing.

'Choose.'

She stared at Alice's determined face, where fear came and went with each movement the unsub did, but never lingered for very long. A firm mask had planted itself, refusing to move until she allowed it to do so.

'Choose.'

Marie's stomach.

The image should have been typically one of a glowing mother, proud of carrying what would later be a reflection of herself and her other half. It's how JJ had been, even during the times when morning sickness and the downsides of pregnancy had hit hard.

'Choose.'

Yet the one kneeling before her had tears flowing down her cheeks, swollen, red and helpless. Hair, looking as if it had not been brushed in a year. Clothes, now being dyed with her own blood.

'I can't,' she said. 'Please.'

The unsub raised a brow, pleased at the turn of events. 'Oh ho, come on, you can't make it this easy for me…or is that an invitation for me to shoot both? Want me that much, aye?'

He swerved the nozzle of the gun towards the shed wall and shot, causing the two women to reel away. 'You think I'm fucking joking?'

His gaze, eyes wide in excitement, turned towards Emily once more. Aiming the gun at Marie once more, he reloaded loudly, prompting soft whimpers from the woman.

'Choose.'

'No.'

He placed the gun closer to Marie's stomach, the woman flinching as she felt the nozzle of the gun.

'I said,' his gaze was threatening, challenging.

'Choose.'

Jack Hotchner.

The way the unit chief's usually serious mask was shed in the presence of his son.

The way he'd smile one of his rare, genuine smiles as he heard the sound of his son's voice, lifting him up onto his shoulders; a superhero different from the one he was when on the job.

The death of Marie would result in the death of a child who had been five months short of experiencing their first taste of life.

The end to a life before its beginning.

Emily swallowed, employing an old tactic. She had doubts about its effectiveness, its futility against the psychopath the reason why she had not even attempted it to protect herself. With a victim involved however, anything was worth a try.

'Name?'

'What?' Marie seemed perplexed, voice choked thickly with tears and heavy breathing.

'What's her name?'

Marie's eyes widened in understanding, a profound hope present in her expression.

'His.'

Emily managed a smile, progressing quickly. 'What's his name?'

'We – Bill and I were thinking Nathaniel,' she replied, swallowing to clear her voice.

'Shut UP,' came the man's loud shout. 'or I'll kill you right NOW. No choices.'

He shifted the gun further down Marie's stomach to prove his point. Turning his eyes to Emily once more, he commanded again.

'Choose. Last chance.'

Emily breathed in deeply, holding the air in her lungs in order to calm herself. Her hands were clenched, nails digging into her skin.

'Three…'

Why not her.

'Two…'

Why her. Why always her.

The final number.

Choose none. Do nothing. They all die.

Choose one, and all of them may live. Scarred, wounded, but perhaps, alive.

The unsub's lips had curled into a small 'o' to spell out the last number when Emily gave her answer.

'Alice Timmons.'

.

.

.

'I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations – one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or not do it – you will regret both.'

Soren Kierkegaard

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.

.

'Agent Prentiss?'

Emily's head snapped up, finding the two figures before her staring at her through perplexed eyes.

'Continue, if you please.'

There was no choice. She had to return to that place once more.

'And then…' She swallowed. Her throat felt dry. 'Alice Timmons suffered severe physical trauma in his hands.'

'In the hands of Julian Newman, you mean to say?'

'Yes.'

'Would you be able to describe it?'

'I'm afraid I can't,' she said. 'I had my eyes closed the entire time. I couldn't watch after that.'

'Understandably so,' came the reply.

Liar. Said a voice in her head. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

You watched him do everything. Every despicable thing. Letting him do it, watching as he tore into her, mocking you, all the time just standing there, helpless, like the damn vic – coward you are.

You were feeling good, weren't you? After you saw what he did, you were glad it wasn't you.

Protect the victims my ass –

'Agent Prentiss?'

'Sorry.'

'It's alright. Could you tell us from the next events you can remember?'

'Yes.'

It was another half an hour until the door was broken down, a familiar voice meeting their ears.

'Freeze, FBI!'

Julian Newman's hands reached straight for the shotgun, releasing the bloody mess he had been straddling and forcing the team to halt at the door. The ropes binding the woman were drenched in the dark crimson of blood, which was seeping from several cuts from her body where the skin could no longer be distinguished from her clothes.

The man looked plagued, almost confused at the number of policemen who stood at the door.

His eyes widened as he recognized the darker agent who stood, strong and feet firmly planted into the ground.

He should be dead.

'That's right, you son of a bitch,' the large agent was saying to him. 'I'm alive and well. No thanks to you. Now drop your weapon.'

'Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head.' Came a second command from a dark-haired man with a deep frown, his height and bulk almost rivaling that of the dark agent.

No, no, NO. This was NOT happening.

He had yet to do her, yet to rip into her for real…

'Emily, you ok?' He saw the man side glancing at the female agent – his property. They weren't allowed to touch her!

She gave a nod in reply. 'Don't worry about me, just get them out of here.'

No. NO. NO.

He wasn't finished with them. He would never be finished with them. This was not supposed to happen.

Ooo.

He felt the bulky weight of the shotgun in his hands. He glanced sideways at Marie, who was only a few inches away from where he stood. Fear that had disappeared from her face in the presence of help appeared once more under his intent gaze.

Julian gave a victorious grin towards the agents, shifting the gun towards Marie.

'NO!' She shrieked, falling over onto her back as the ropes around her body restrained her efforts to escape the gun point.

'Don't. Do it,' warned Derek.

He gave a smirk.

He knew how he could take Agent Prentiss with him.

He smiled a sadistic, victorious grin towards the officers at the door.

'Drop your weapon, Julian,' one of them warned, clicking his gun in a futile attempt to threaten.

Oh officers, so naïve, always too late. Always.

The stiff sleeve of his mother's suit slipped from his hands, a harsh kick landing on his already bruised thigh.

'I do NOT have time to handle a bunch of school yard bullies!'

Always.

His finger reached the trigger of his shot gun just in time as two searing bullets tore through his chest. His shotgun fired twice. And Marie's stomach exploded.

Agent Prentiss's scream was the final thing he heard, and he was dead before he hit the ground.

I win.

.

.

.

Everything after that seemed to move at snail's pace, as if someone had hit the slow button on the remote.

'Oh god, Emily.' Came Derek's Morgan's arms that surrounded her body in a secure embrace, very much alive. She could feel the thickness of the bandages that surrounded his torso, and blankly returned the hug, eyes never leaving the two figures that lay on the ground behind him. Her sights on the scene elicited a profound sense of regret and remorse to eat away at her, merging with the guilt that had returned with the feeling of Derek's bandage.

'Medics!'

That was Hotch's voice, she registered, watching was the medics rapidly forwarded into the shed with a single stretcher. Why did they only need one? Two was in need, one for Marie, one for Alice.

Except Marie was dead now.

Dead.

Dropped dead.

Unable to be saved.

And her baby. Her baby, dead before it was even born.

Dead.

'Emily!'

She felt as if she was emerging from a warp as the voice broke through the haze.

'I think she might be concussed.'

They were talking as if she was a victim.

'I'm okay,' she said forcefully, voice breaking her silence and startling the agents around her. 'I'm okay.' She repeated once more, pushing herself from the ground and rushing past her team to where Alice's stretcher was waiting beside the ambulance.

The red and blue sirens cast bright colours across the woman's pale face, the woman almost looking healthy at the short durations where the red would cast a lively blush across her cheeks.

'Alice?'

A moan resounded from the woman. Her hand twitched, a feeble attempt to recover from her state. Blood was once again beginning to stain the white sheets that covered her body.

Why couldn't he have just killed her.

Lacerations adorned her arms, deep slash after slash. Like dark red tattoos etched across her body.

'Sorry Agent, but we're going to have to board her now,' said a medic, placing his hands on the stretcher apologetically. 'She'll be fine.'

Emily said and did nothing, and watched as they gently raised the stretcher into the ambulance. The doors closed, and then, sirens blazing despite the isolation of the area, the ambulance left the premises first.

Watching the white vehicle disappear behind the piles of rubbles and car parts as it headed towards the gate, she managed a whisper.

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…'

'Prentiss?'

The white sheets covering two bodies consumed her attention. Once white, she reminded herself. It was once white. Now, soaked in dark crimson, it would remain that way.

Lifting the covers, she did not see the face she had expected. She lay there on the ground, looking up at a face that looked identical to hers. Emily Prentiss. FBI Agent.

An FBI Agent, who should rightfully have been lying there in place of the victim, but instead, stood there looking down at her instead, well and truly alive.

She couldn't save them.

'Prentiss.' A gentle hand was laid on her shoulder, prompting her to turn slowly to face the team. Their faces were a combination of relief and concern as they searched her for what to say.

At last, Aaron gave her a gentle push towards the SUVs, and said. 'Let's go home.'

.

.

.

Aaron was faced with a strange sense of De javu as he sat on the plane, glancing between each of his team members who had taken a seat each. All of them sat apart tonight, as was the usual result after they had finished a heavy case.

One that had taken a heavy toll on them in many ways.

JJ stared out the window blankly, chin propped up against her hand. They were returning to a dark, cloudy evening.

David Rossi sat, pensive expression on his face hiding his inner turmoil, revealed to Aaron by the quiet tapping of his finger on the page his book was opened to. He had been on that same page for the past ten minutes.

Spencer was nodding off over his chessboard, the pieces still in their places. Fatigue had finally begun to take its toll on the young agent.

Then there was Derek, who once again had his giant earphones over his head, no different to the return of any other case.

Aaron gave a deep quiet sigh and leaned back in his chair. His eyelids began to feel heavy and he finally allowed them to shut, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

'Hey.'

'Hey,' Derek greeted back, taking the earphones off from his ears as Emily approached where he was sitting. She motioned to the seat in front of his.

'This seat taken?'

He cocked his head to the side, eyebrow raised. 'You know it isn't.'

Silence ensued after Emily had sat down, knees crossed and hands folded on top of them. 'You okay?' She finally asked.

He did not answer, but instead asked back, 'You?'

'Hm,' she gave a smile and a nod, but also failed to give an answer. 'I will be,' she finally managed.

'Then so will I.'

Emily's smile disappeared at his comment, her mask falling to reveal the lamenting expression underneath. She leaned closer before continuing. 'You know this wasn't your fault.' And she meant it.

No one else was to blame but her –

'Nor was it yours.'

Yes it was.

She gave a nod, faking another half smile. 'I know, it wasn't.'

Though Derek didn't seem all too happy with her reaction, he decided not to pursue it any further. As Emily leaned back and turned her gaze to the window, he placed the earphones over his ears once more, the music easing the demons he forced himself to face.

It was his fault. No one else's.


	9. Chapter 9

Her heels tapped rhythmically against the polished tiles on the floor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A hollow emptiness echoed inside her. The corridor that lead to the main BAU office was deserted. She glanced at the watch on her wrist.

11:30.

Huh. No wonder.

She pushed the glass doors open with the intention of walking towards her desk to collect her belongings and head home. That was before she noticed the light in Hotch's office was still on.

A knock on his office door prompted the unit chief to look up from the files on his desk. 'Come in.'

'Hey,' Emily stood by his doorway, hesitant about whether to come in or not. 'You busy?'

He shook his head, subtly transferring the files on his desk to a small pile on its right hand side. 'Take a seat.'

The last time they had a moment like this was when Hotch had forbidden her from working on the field. She sat down cautiously, taking a glance at the files Hotch was busily putting away.

Foyet's case files.

So it had been Foyet that had been keeping Hotch up in the office all night. She knew everyone on the team had suspected it, but it was something that was never speculated out loud. 'I don't know, guess the reports are keeping him up tonight,' was how they shrugged it off.

'How can I help you?' Aaron asked, placing the final folder on top of the pile and placing one hand neatly on top of the other. 'Did the evaluation go alright?'

She gave a nod. 'Yeah, yeah.'

'I see.' He wasn't believing her. She wouldn't be surprised if he lengthened the number of times she was recommended to go.

'I just,' she began, pulling the chair closer to the desk. 'I just wanted to apologise.'

The unit chief's gaze was steady. 'For what.'

Emily gave a shrug. 'You know, for –'

'I don't appreciate you feeling obliged to apologise for something that's already over,' Hotch replied to her slow responses. 'Especially with something that you have little fault in – I should have kept you off the field, but I yielded, and allowed one of my agents who was being stalked by the unsub and another mentally disturbed individual as we found out later, to stay on the job.'

'And I did,' she defended, refraining from expressing the anger that suddenly seemed to well up inside her.

'I know, and you did well. I'm not questioning that,' Hotch said, voice calm and firm. 'However, why then are you in my office, wanting some sort of justification for the guilt you're feeling,'

She looked down at her lap, her eyelashes covering her pupils from view.

'It wasn't your fault Prentiss. You did what you had to do.'

Yes it was.

'You saved a victim. And given the circumstances the team couldn't be any more relieved with how you pulled through – the fact that you did pull through. But are you?'

Emily ran her fingers over the bumpy ridges on her wrists. They remained slightly red, harsh lines of skin a few shades darker than its usual tone.

She hoped they would last forever.

'How's Morgan doing?' She asked, eyes still refusing to meet Aaron's.

'You'd know that better than I would.' Was all the unit chief said. At that point, as Aaron grabbed one of the case files from the side of his desk, Emily stood up and departed from the room.

Aaron heard his office door close, and finally allowed himself to hide his face in the palms of his hands. He rubbed his forehead gingerly, tiredly.

As he watched the female agent leave the office through the blinds of his window, he could not help but feel heavy at heart for the two agents who had their minds intent on affixing guilt to themselves, in order to escape the inevitable truth that rang so true for their work and to convince their egos that somehow, they could have made a difference.

You can never save everyone. Sometimes, the case ended with no survivors, and it wasn't just the victims he was referring to.

No matter how long you had been at it, the death of victims in front of your eyes managed to place onto your shoulders guilt and a sense of responsibility no matter how good you were at detaching yourself from the experience. Having chosen the victim-to-be herself, there was no doubt that Emily Prentiss had walked away from that very moment with blood on her hands.

Blood that she had applied herself and refused to wash off. Guilt that she shouldn't feel, given that had she not made a decision, all the victims would have been murdered and Emily, subjected to severe physical torture and sexual assault before their arrival.

He didn't want to wonder how long it was going to take.

'Now, that same sound...paralyses me. I'm not the same person anymore.'

But Emily was not Elle. He had to keep reminding himself that. They were two different people and he knew for one that, Emily would continue on from this experience, somehow dust off its remains and rise back onto her feet once more.

But when that was going to occur, that was the pending question.

.

.

.

Emily sat in the SUV, wrapping the bullet proof vest around her torso and strapping it firmly. She checked that her glock was at her hip, opening up the magazine to check that it was full, despite having done that only five minutes ago before she had entered the vehicle. She looked through the windscreen through the rearview mirror, exhaling deeply when the empty car park came into view.

A sudden jerking sound startled her, her right hand instinctively reaching for her glock on her hip as her head swerved to the driver's seat window.

'Whoa, whoa, Prentiss, it's me,' Derek said quickly, putting his hands up to calm her down. 'Can you open the door?'

Emily moved quickly, immediately unlocking the car door so the larger man could enter.

Damn it. She did not meet his eye. And then came the question.

'You okay?'

She nodded from behind her dark sunnies. 'Yeah, what makes you think I'm not.'

Derek gave a worried shrug, but did not pursue the matter any further.

'Just drive,' Emily said, averting her gaze towards the window. She was sure Derek had already seen the signs – if he hadn't, her previous actions would have confirmed his assumptions.

Looks like it was time to say hello to more therapy.

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.

.

'I know hyper vigilance when I see it, Rossi. Why isn't Hotch doing anything about it.'

'So you make Prentiss stay off the job. For how long would you propose.'

'You know that's not the point, Rossi. The reason why she's been attending each and every psych eval that's been scheduled for her is 'cause she doesn't want to draw any more attention to herself and you know it.'

'Alright, Morgan, so you tell me. What do you propose we do? Come on, you're obviously keen on the idea that keeping Prentiss from work is going to help out her situation. And yet here you are, despite being plagued by guilt yourself, working your butt off to make sure you can't focus on it, hoping it'll go away in the end.'

'That's different.'

'How?'

'…'

'She's coming into the office each morning, taking the cases with us every day for the same reasons that you are. Both of you are too busy trying to fasten the blame on yourselves you don't even realise both of you are going through the same thing, it drives me nuts. Here you are, trying to fix her, when you haven't even helped yourself.'

Derek remained silent, face twisted into a pained expression.

'You want her to take time off? Take some of your own advice first.'

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.

.

3 months later, 8:00 p.m.

Snow was still falling outside the by the time the BAU team entered the office after having finished their latest case.

The fatigue in the team members' faces were so painfully apparent to the Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as he watched each of them take their places, their playful banter non existent in the silent office.

It had failed to return yet from the horrors of what they had experienced six months ago, events that seemed as clear as if it had happened yesterday, causing the case they had just finished fading away under those images of another chapter of the past.

Aaron acknowledged Dave with a silent look as the senior agent passed by to enter his office.

Before entering his own, Aaron gazed at the team below him once more. The wounds they had all received months before had obviously yet to heal.

.

.

.

'Heading home?' Dave inquired as Emily gently lifted the long coat from the back of her chair and shrugged it on.

'Yeah, yourself?'

'I'll get Hotch. He was going to head out a minute ago.' Dave replied, heading back up the stairs towards the supervisor's office.

Emily, having finished packing up her things, headed towards the elevator in brisk steps, without informing the senior agent of her departure. She wasn't sure if she wanted to stand in their questioning gazes in the confined space of the elevator.

She entered, pressed the button that would take her down to the ground level where the vehicles were parked, and hastily pressed the second button which prompted the doors to slide shut in front of her without delay.

It was only then did she allow herself to breathe a deep sigh.

None of them ever asked explicitly whether she was alright, but she knew they were all wondering, wanting to ask the same damn question, wanting to know how she was coping with all now.

She would feel their gazes behind her back when she left rooms and the awkward silence that pursued upon her entrances.

Though she knew it was the natural course of events, she was inevitably beginning to get sick of them. The manner in which the unsaid questions, insinuating gestures beneath the painful silence that plagued her was almost suffocating.

Then there were also the memories of that day. The only good that came out of the uncomfortable atmosphere of the office and the cases were that it gave her something else to focus on other than the damn images and events from that day that, when allowed, clouded her five senses as clear as if she was reliving the one and a half days of hell.

She could keep it all away when in the office, or when on the job, but at home, it was impossible.

The ability she had learnt and practiced since her childhood, to compartmentalize, only took her so far. Once inside the complete empty silence of her home, her control vanished, leaving her completely vulnerable to the memories, the sights, the touches, the sounds. The voices.

A soft clunk and bell signaling the elevator had reached its stop prompted her to gaze up to confirm the level number, then out at the vast car park that opened before her.

Her heels echoed through its emptiness as Emily made her way towards where she remembered to have parked her vehicle.

It was silent.

Her steps quickened as the feeling of vulnerability returned, and in the space of no noise, memories threatened to come in crashing waves. She knew for sure she didn't need it here.

'How is she?' Emily asked the nurse.

'She's in stable condition. It's her mental health that's currently of the greatest concern to us,' she answered, motioning for Emily to follow her to the patient's room.

She mentally cursed herself for having parked the car further away from the elevator than she usually did as she inevitably began to remember once more.

'Understandable, given what she's been through of course,' the nurse added hastily.

Emily did not reply.

'Here we are!'

The number 340 jumped out at her like a loud yell.

'If you don't mind,' she stopped the nurse before she could open the door. 'If you don't mind, I'd like to wait out here, please?'

'Oh, I thought you wanted to see her?'

Emily gave her a reassuring smile, then held up her phone, pretending she had received a call.

'Oh, of course.' The nurse returned a warm grin, tottered into the room, and disappeared behind the closed door.

Coward. Said a voice in her head. Chicken.

Ignoring it, Emily placed the phone back in her pocket, turned on her heel and walked down the corridor to exit the hospital.

Ugh.

'You were lucky, Agent Prentiss. Somehow his knife missed your vital organs and he made sure it was superficial enough to ensure you didn't die from blood loss.'

Whoop de doo. Just her luck.

She pulled the coat tighter around herself, trying her hardest to focus on the cold that travelled through the soles of her heels. She wished she had brought a scarf, not so much for its warmth, but the sense of security it would bring with the covering of her neck and chin.

'I just…I wanted to thank you.' The man's stance defined the meaning of defeat as he thanked Emily with sincere gratitude.

'You have nothing to thank me for,' she said, the statement coming out colder than intended. I was unable to save your wife. And your baby.

She stopped herself just before the words fell off her tongue.

'I'm sorry,' she managed instead. 'If there's anything else I can do, please, do let me know.'

She could now see her car in the distance. She tried to think about what she would do after getting in as the memories became stronger and uncontrollably real. Get in, turn the ignition on, then the heater, getting warm was the priority…

'I'm afraid the patient has refused to see you, Agent Prentiss,' the nurse said, expression legitimately apologetic. 'Please forgive her, she's currently undergoing intense psychological treatments in order to –'

'It's not her fault,' Emily said, uncomfortable with the nurse's choice of words.

Alice wasn't the one who needed forgiveness.

'Well,' the nurse sighed. 'I guess it never is the victim's fault. Not in cases like this.'

She fumbled for her car keys in her pocket, causing her steps to slow.

Those looks, looking at her as if she was a victim. Pitiful, concerned, telling her that she was pathetic.

They treated her like a victim, carefully and cautiously, rethinking their sentences before saying them out loud, treating her as if she was a fragile vase.

She hated it.

'Agent Prentiss!'

A shrill voice caused her to halt abruptly in her steps.

Emily knew that voice.

She had to turn around. Her figure was frozen as she swerved slowly.

There, only a few feet away, stood Alive Timmons, stance unstable, figure gaunt and trembling in clothes that only consisted of a blouse and skirt. A shiny revolver was held in her hand, her arm straight as an arrow, aimed at Emily's face.

Emily stood still, rigid and unmoving. She barely registered the gun. For that moment, she did not know what it meant. Maybe she didn't want to recognize what it meant.

Tears had frozen to Alice's cheeks, her breath a white frosty mist as she breathed heavily.

'Alice?'

'You….you!'

The woman swallowed, legs threatening to buckle beneath her.

'You took…you took everything away from me!'

Her voice was the only one in the car park as it rose continuously with each word that was said, voice shrill and pained as it was forced between lips strained with cold.

Emily said nothing, expression emotionless and blank as she stood as rigid as a statue, and watched.

'You let him d-do those things to me! Why did you choose me, WHY!'

Alice's words were choked up in a heavy sob. She swallowed, tears continuing to flow down her cheeks.

'You just stood there, watching…watching as he did – e-everything! EVERY SINGLE DESPICABLE THING. AND YOU-YOU LET HIM! You just stood there, WATCHING.'

Her feet must be cold, Emily thought, looking at the woman's bare legs. Poor woman.

'W-why-why didn't you STOP HIM.'

She was going to catch a cold.

'Why. Why - WHY? WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP HIM.'

A dull click sounded as she unlocked the safety of the revolver with trembling hands.

'I…I have to do this,' Alice raised a hand to wipe the below her nose. 'I keep seeing him in my dreams…he won't leave me alone…but getting rid of you…that'll get rid of him…'

The woman's face screwed up in desperation and determination as she kept her hand steady.

'I…I have to do this…it's you he wants…then he'll leave me alone…He tells me that's the only way…'

Until the guilt for killing catches up to you. Then who will you blame, Alice. Will you then point that gun towards yourself in an effort to escape?

Emily could hear the woman's heavy breathing, and knew it did not come from the cold, but the nervousness, panic and exhilaration that came from the thought of her intended act.

Alice was not a trained marksman. She was a lawyer. Or once was. She had no military training. Emily knew she had the advantage. It wouldn't take very long for her to reach for her own gun and take a shot that was sure to hit. She also knew Alice was more than capable and determined of doing what she had travelled more than several thousand miles to do.

Then she realized.

She just didn't care anymore.

Emily slowly averted her gaze to the ground, vaguely registering a tear that fell from her eye to the top of her shoe.

'I'm sorry…' a tiny whisper escaped Alice's lips as her final words.

Then.

Two shots rang rapidly through the car park, one after the other, sharply shattering the silence.

A dull thud sounded as a body dropped to the floor.

Emily Prentiss barely noticed the white fog that occurred before her vision with each wintery breath she exhaled, which clouded her sight of the woman lying a few feet in front of her.

A woman dressed in clothes so thin, choice of clothing dismissed in her sole fiery desire for revenge and a single night of dreamless sleep.

A woman, who for the second time in her life, lay in a pool of her own blood, this time however, dead.

Too dead to see it.

Too dead to regret.

'Emily?'

The two men standing behind her, whose own guns they held in their outstretched hands, now lowered them as she nodded in reply.

David approached the body before her, taking the revolver from Alice's hand and checking her pulse.

'She's gone.'

She refused to meet either of their gaze as she continued to stare at Alice's body on the ground. It was only a few minutes later, when, after Dave had signaled to Hotch and he had brought the car to stand beside her, she finally managed to look away.

Dave opened the passenger door, motioning inside. When she politely refused, she was rewarded with one of her unit chief's unforgiving glares.

'Get in.'

.

.

.

Emily could feel her hands trembling in the car despite their warmth as she sat in the seat beside Aaron. The journey was silent, the night out the window, pitch black against snow that shone in different colours under street lamps.

No words were shared as he accompanied her to her condo and they reached the door of her room. He said nothing even while noticing the difficulty she had unlocking the door, the trembling in her fingers refusing to cease.

There she finally turned towards him, after having unlocked it successfully, and spoke.

'Thanks for dropping me off.'

He gave a nod. 'Just returning the favour.'

She managed a half-smile in understanding, then opened the door slightly in order to allow herself in.

'So I'll be seeing you in the office tomorrow?'

Emily stopped in her tracks to look back at her unit chief, his statement finally having broken the ice and awkward silence that had ensued between the two of them. She smiled, for real this time.

'Yeah. You can count on it.'

He gave an approving nod, then turned to head back down the elevator.

'Hotch.' She called out just before the elevator arrived, prompting the man to turn his head in her direction.

'Thanks.' Was all she could manage. She knew that she would understand.

When she closed the door and faced her condo, she found herself shrouded in darkness. She pressed her back against the door for support as the trembling in her hands had transferred to her knees, causing them to buckle. She gently allowed herself to slide to the ground, where she brought her knees up to her chest.

Tears were something she was unfamiliar with despite it being the first action she had done upon her first breath. It had been so rare she could remember the exact times she had cried in her life.

Five years old, when the inevitability of physical pain became apparent after gravity had taken its toll on her child body and tossed it down the stairs.

Fifteen years old. That night where a rite of passage that had arrived too soon. The encounter with the male counterpart.

Fifteen again, just before she fell asleep under the effect of the anesthesia she followed the sensation of a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye and dropped into her hair.

She had wondered afterwards what exactly she had been mourning for, was it the fear, or the guilt of indirectly committing infanticide? Or the losing of what really was, despite the shame, her child.

The tears became less frequent after each time she realized it was neither the reliever of physical pain nor the solution to the internal ones. The expression 'tears were a healing agent' was one that never proved to be true. Not for her in any case.

Her tears from then on were then spared only for others, to share moments of joy, empathise or cry together with those expressing pain.

She leaned against the door, breathing deeply as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

She was not a victim. She repeated to herself.

Not a victim. Not a victim. Not a victim.

'…getting rid of you…that'll get rid of him…'

So what did she have to do to get rid of the same man who invaded her dreams every night? To stop their screams, that she could only escape after she was safely behind the glass doors of that office?

A few minutes later, as she tried to stand up, her knees gave way and brought her crashing to the floor. And along with it came tears; that fell onto her right wrist that she had brought up to protect her face from being smashed into the ground.

The warmth rolled onto the scars that lay etched into the skin, producing what seemed to be a comforting burning sensation.

And there she succumbed, straightening up to lean against the door once more. She closed her eyes. Her sobs were silent. The darkness within the room accompanied her lone figure in an empty embrace, and continued throughout the night.

.

.

.

'Every time you win, you're reborn; when you lose, you die a little.'

George Allen

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.

.

'Is Emily in?'

Derek looked up from his file into JJ's blue eyes that were wide with concern. He shook his head. 'She answering her phone?'

'I thought you called her, I saw you putting it to your ear twice in the past hour.'

Derek turned away and did not respond. JJ swallowed, looking down at her cell phone, and said, 'I tried but it keeps going to her voice mail.'

She watched as the dark man looked up at the two offices that stood elevated only a few feet away from them. 'Have they said anything?'

JJ shook her head. 'Nothing. If Hotch had given Emily leave it would be in the system but Garcia wasn't able to find anything.'

She stepped back, startled as Derek rose from his chair without warning. 'Morgan?'

Without a response, Derek walked in quick, wide steps towards the unit chief's office.

'You won't find him,' came Dave's familiar voice, which prompted Derek to turn around as he had just reached Aaron's door.

He leaned against the office door with the elbow, and surveyed the senior agent with a frown.

'He's gone to pick up Emily,' Dave said, expression content and calm. 'He won't be long.'

As if on cue, Dave's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Derek watched, expression intent and restless as he watched him answer it. JJ and Spencer, who had just been conversing, presumably about Emily's absence, hesitated and surveyed the two agents above them, gauging their reactions.

.

.

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Damn it Prentiss, answer the door.

For what seemed like the third time, Aaron attempted another series of heavy knocks. He was just about to attempt the cell phone when -

'Agent Hotchner?' A tentative call caused Aaron to turn around. He was slightly perplexed to see an old woman, with a thick bunch of letters in her hand standing just outside her door.

'Ma'am, I apologise if I've disturbed you. I'm just having some difficulty reaching – '

'Oh, no, no, nonsense. I'm an old bird up from the crack of dawn, I tell you,' she smiled at his courteous reply, waving his apology away. 'Agent Hotchner from Miss Emily's work, am I correct?'

He gave a nod, 'yes, I am. I'm on my way to pick her up now, actually.'

'Oh, good luck then,' she said, 'She might be a bit busy still, I presume.'

Aaron froze. 'Excuse me?'

The old woman gave him another smile, giving her shoulder a playful slap. 'Oh, silly me. Shouldn't be saying such stuff about private lives of my neighbours, naughty naughty.'

'Ma'am, what do you mean?'

'Oh, well at six thirty this morning I heard loud sounds of running water,' she finally said. One of the letters in her hand slipped through her fingers, settling itself on the ground a feet or so before her. 'I came out to check who it was coming from and it seemed to be sounding from Miss Emily's room – '

Crash.

A loud noise caused the old woman to jump up in alarm, the letter she had retrieved in her hand now crumpled in surprise.

No, Prentiss, you wouldn't be that stupid. Not you. Not to do something that rash –

It was only after he saw the empty bathroom, the bathtub clean and empty, did he release a breath of relief. He holstered the gun to his waist once more, raised a hand to the alarmed old woman standing outside Emily's door, and reached for his cell phone and dialed Emily's number when –

The vibrations rumbled on the coffee table behind him.

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.

'Hotch, did you find anything at her place that could suggest where she could have gone?' Derek demanded, once again at the wheel and turning it sharply to avoid a corner.

A heavy frown had settled on his forehead to match that of the unit chief's, who replied as negative. 'Nothing.'

'You dropped her off yesterday, what was she like?' Dave asked, voice seemingly calm but the slight growl at the end of his sentence revealing his agitation.

Aaron shook his head, reaching up to slide a hand down his forehead. 'She was…content by the time I left. I told her I'd be seeing her at the office and she seemed relieved.'

Spencer, upon observing Derek's eyes fix into an incriminating gaze, saw need to justify Hotch's decision. 'Allowing Emily to stay meant she had something to look forward to Morgan, it'd help her keep her mind off things. Perhaps even darker thoughts if – ' His voice lessened slightly in its enthusiasm as he sensed the tightening of the atmosphere inside the SUV – 'she ever did have them.' He finished.

'I know that,' Derek said. 'He wanted her to stay where we could keep an eye on her. You ain't giving me enough credit, kid.'

'Then?' JJ asked, not skipping a beat.

Another sharp turn.

'I just,' he tried again. 'I just wish I could have done more.'

'We all do,' She replied softly.

'The irony is that's exactly what she didn't want us to feel,' Dave said. 'Given that it's no wonder she's been having difficulty functioning – Emily's proud, even now she'd be denying that she's a victim.'

'She's not,' Derek corrected sharply, swerving around into a narrow street. 'She's not a victim. If anything, she's a survivor.'

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.

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Tiny hands, tiny smiles. First breaths of life.

The smiles of the couple beside her as they were able to look in on their child, as the nurse finally reached the glass with their creation in her arms.

God, how happy they looked.

She felt her legs complaining about the past hour she had spent standing up and looking inside, prompting her to reach the chairs nearby and taking a seat.

She closed her eyes, chest falling rhythmically as she breathed slowly.

'Miss?'

A soft voice jerked her from darkness. Emily looked up into the eyes of an old man, who tapped at his own wrist just below the syringe needle after checking that he had her attention.

'Would you happen to know the time?'

Emily, flustered at the sudden interaction, answered immediately. 'Yeah, yeah sure, the time is –'

Instead of the black leather of her wristwatch she found herself looking down at scars.

The time. The time.

Oh my god.

'Excuse me, what's the time?' She asked the man, immediately jumping up from her seat as a realization hit, and at the same time mentally kicking herself as soon as she realized the stupidity of her inquiry.

'I just asked you!' He responded, face beginning to scrunch up in frustration. 'You know, it's not funny to tease –'

'I'm so sorry!' she apologized over her shoulder, his figure diminishing in size as she ran towards the exit.

She fumbled in her coat pocket for the familiar bulk of the cell phone, cursing when she found none. Forcing herself to continue moving despite the pins and needles that jabbed up her right leg, she moved herself towards the glass doors of the hospital.

She wondered if she should stop to use the public phone.

Yes, they'd already be out looking for her.

Emily halted, heels almost losing balance on the well polished floor, and had just grabbed the receiver when –

'Prentiss!'

She turned around, breathing out a sigh of relief when she found herself looking at the whole team, who were rushing towards where she was standing.

'God, I'm – I'm so sorry, I got completely carried away – I' She blurted, dropping the receiver in her haste. It clattered noisily to the floor.

'It's okay, just catch your breath,' Derek said, a bright smile breaking on his face despite his voice breaking in a similar fashion.

'I – ,' it was only then she realised that she was smiling, amused at the events that had occurred within the past few seconds. Despite her previous expectations, it did not feel foreign at all, having found its original place back on her lips. 'How'd you know?'

Derek, the relieved grin on his lips matching hers, replied, 'Prentiss, we're profilers. Out of anyone we profile you should know that.'

'Give us some credit, please,' added Dave, corners of his lips flicked up in a cheeky smile.

She cocked her head to one side, eyebrow raised. 'You're not allowed to do that.'

'What?'

'You were profiling me.'

Derek and the team exchanged glances. 'No,' Spencer replied, the expression on his face genuinely innocent. 'We never said that.'

'Huh,' Emily said, looking down at the floor like a child, putting up the clueless act. 'You know, for a genius with an eidetic memory, you're pretty selective in what you recall.'

'Oooh,' Derek said, giving Spencer a playful shove on the shoulder. 'She got you there.'

'Not so fast,' JJ retorted, 'You're the one who said it, don't bring Spence into this.'

'She's right,' Aaron added as Derek opened his mouth to object, serious expression masking his amusement. 'You did say that.'

'Aw come on, Hotch, not you too!'

The agent's indignant reply prompted from the team a joyous chuckle, which Emily joine din, albeit softly.

At least, softly for the moment.

Outside the hospital, the clouds cleared to reveal a winter sun, its warmth illuminating the snow that covered the surroundings.

A snowman stood in the hospital courtyard, as two children began to run from it, their playful laughter lighting up the place. The shiny surface of the glass eyes used for its eyes and smiling mouth reflected several identical images of a black SUV, that became smaller and smaller in size as it sped away.


End file.
